


Taken and Tortured

by missblueeyes63



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Protective Older Brothers, Team as Family, Whump Clay, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-19 12:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missblueeyes63/pseuds/missblueeyes63
Summary: Clay went skiing in Switzerland with Bravo and is presumed dead and buried by an avalanche. The truth is much more disturbing. Will his brothers figure out he was taken by a man bent on torturing him to death before he succeeds?This is 'T' in the Alphabet Injuries collection and a continuation of"Where's Spenser?"and picks up right where it left off.





	1. Tears and Tactics

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up for another ride on the Clay whump train. Evil muse has plans ... so many plans ... but at least she didn't leave you hanging too long after the last chapter of Where's Spenser?

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Church** _

After Sonny's anguished farewell toast to Clay, Ray wandered the streets of Zermatt with no destination in mind. However, his heart must’ve known where he needed to be and guided his feet. He approached the church with its doors standing wide open, inviting anyone tormented by yesterday’s tragedy to come inside. Entering, Ray noted it was quite full and took a seat in the last pew. Bowing his head, Ray sat in silence, hoping for a respite from the overwhelming pain and tightness in his chest.

He let tears slide down without swiping them away. He had lost brothers before … mostly in combat. This was different. His shoulders began to shake as his grief washed over him like a tsunami. “Why the kid?” he murmured. “Why here? Why now? Why this way? Why?”

Father Tremblay moved up and down the aisle, offering comfort to those who sought out his church, regardless of denomination. Many tourists came, needing a place to pray after the avalanche. As he neared the rear, he overheard the soft questioning of a grieving soul, struggling to make sense of why. He gave the man several moments to release his anguish before approaching him. 

Ray possessed no clue to how long he sat there sobbing, but a light touch on his back caused him to lift his eyes, and he met the compassionate brown orbs of a priest.

“My son, did you lose someone on the mountain?”

Swiping at his eyes, Ray nodded.

“Would you like me to sit with you for a while?”

Again, Ray gave a slight nod, and the father sat beside him.

“I’m Father Tremblay.”

“Ray.” He used his sleeve as a tissue to dry his eyes.

Tremblay remained quiet, leaving his hand on the younger man’s back, understanding those grieving often needed a tangible link to other humans. Though not everyone did, he was pleased Ray didn’t pull back.

Words began to tumble out, “Clay was too young … just a kid … well, not an actual kid, but our kid brother. The youngest on our team. When he joined, oh man, was Clay ever brash and cheeky, but he tempered once he understood what it meant to be part of a team … a family … and he wasn’t alone anymore.

“He needed us as much as we needed him. He challenged us at every turn, and we became better because of him. His smile … his laugh … his dedication … his perseverance … all things to behold. Clay suffered so much, and every time, he bounced back. He dug deep with tenaciousness I haven’t witnessed in anyone, ever. The kid survived things … well, things others couldn’t or wouldn’t. Clay was kind, honorable, willing to risk his life to save others. I can’t believe he is gone. In a blink of an eye … gone.

“Although my faith tells me Clay is in a better place, the holes he is leaving down here are gaping. I can’t wrap my head around why him? Why now? Why did he have to die alone? He trusted us. He shouldn’t have had to die all alone. It hurts so much to think in his last moments he called out to us to save him, and we weren’t there. Hurts … so much.” Ray’s eyes teared up again.

Father Tremblay waited a moment to determine if Ray would continue, and when he didn’t, he said, “Those left behind will grieve. Your sorrow is real, and yes, it hurts a great deal now. As Clay tempered over time, so too will your heartache. Perhaps you can find a measure of solace in knowing your brother was not truly alone. The Lord embraced and welcomed him into his home, and in time, you will be reunited with him.”

A teary-eyed young woman stopped next to the father. “Excuse me.” She hiccupped, holding back a sob.

Tremblay turned kind eyes to the woman. “Yes?”

“Um, someone said you are going to hold a candlelight vigil tonight … and um. They said if I brought a photo of my brother, the church would print it out and add it to the wall of those missing. They haven’t found him …” she broke down sobbing.

Standing, Tremblay wrapped the distraught woman in his arms. “Yes. Yes, we will. I’ll help you with that.” He turned to Ray. “If you would like to have a photo of Clay added, please come with me. We can download most image files.”

Ray’s hand went to his pocket and caressed his phone. He took many snapshots of the guys since they arrived. He should be able to find a decent one of Clay. He rose. “Yeah. I’d like to add Clay to the missing wall … we’ve yet to find him too.”

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Rented Home** _

In a foggy, muddled state, Clay’s face rubbed on the textured carpet as he moved. His tongue thicker than usual, he tried to lick his dry lips, but upon moving it found the reason for the thickness, a wad of fabric had been shoved in his mouth, gagging him. The thumping in his head made it difficult to think, but he grasped three other things … he lay on the floor with his hands bound behind him, and whoever took him had blindfolded him.

He attempted to concentrate on the voices speaking around him in an unfamiliar language, but the effort seemed too much. He turned inward, trying to recall the last clear thing before waking here. _Sitting in the cable car … being jostled … a poke in my left arm … becoming woozy … then nothing until now._

Clay breathed through his nose as thoughts of his brothers came to mind. They would surely not be letting him out of their grasp or sight for months to come. Their overprotectiveness would increase a thousand-fold once they rescued him. And he had no doubt they wouldn’t … they always did.

They would already be searching for him because he had told them he would be waiting for them at the top and he didn’t break his word. They’d notice he was gone within two seconds of arriving. The only thing that niggled in the back of his mind is how much time elapsed. He figured it couldn’t be more than maybe twenty minutes, because they would locate him fast … his bright orange jacket and neon green knit cap stuck out like a sore thumb among all the other colors.

Testing his hands, Clay found the binding tight with no slack, but at least the twine didn’t bite into his skin like the last time he had been trussed up … and his shoulder was not dislocated, and he hadn’t been dragged through the sand either, so at least three boons.

His mind shifted, and the image of the man to his left came to him. The impression he formed in the few moments of interaction with the salt-and-pepper-haired man with a cultured, yet accented voice didn’t trigger any concerns. Although there was the pin-prick to his left arm. _Drugged … definitely drugged._

Clay pondered the possibility of the person on his other side being involved … but that would mean it was a setup and well planned. Switching lanes, another scenario came to mind … it was random and opportunistic. That seemed more likely to Clay because who would want to take him? The two men who hated him couldn’t be involved. His father was dead, and Spencer Clayton was in prison.

A crime of opportunity seemed most likely. Any person unlucky enough to sit next to the man would’ve been taken … and since shit always happened to him, it was his bad luck to be the one. Clay didn’t stay in negative-land long as he realized he had the best luck of all … Bravo team drafted him, and all five brothers would be searching high and low for him by now, and they would find him.

He was pulled out of his own thoughts as someone switched on the television, and he translated the French-speaking newscaster’s words. _Twenty-three dead, thirteen rescued alive, and six still missing and presumed dead in the unexpected avalanche on the Theodul Glacier behind the Klein Matterhorn yesterday morning._

His thundering heart drowned out the rest of the newscast as three words screamed in his head. _Theodul? Yesterday? Avalanche?_ He realized more than twenty minutes had passed since there had been no avalanche on the mountain yesterday which meant whoever took him abducted him at minimum one day ago. _No … no this can’t be happening. Shit not again. Oh God, are my brothers dead or missing? Please let them be alive._

Then a twinkling of a thought twisted his gut. _Do they know someone took me? If they think I’m one of the missing, they won’t be looking for me._ The cultured voice with an accent cut through his tortuous thoughts.

“You’re mine. They will never suspect you were taken. You are going to pay … vengeance is mine.” He had noted the stirring earlier and hoped Spenser overheard the news report, but it wouldn’t do to allow a SEAL to regain all sensibilities even while bound, gagged, and blindfolded. He jabbed the needle into Spenser’s arm and drugged him again.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Hilltop** _

Though dog-tired, Brock meandered outside, needing to be in the fresh air. Typically, he would go for a run with Cerb when something troubled him to ease his mind, but his body didn’t possess enough energy to do more than walk. He stumbled upon a trail leading upward and without much thought, followed the path. The Swiss Alps in summer were green in the valley town of Zermatt, but wintery white near the top of Theodul Glacier offered year-round skiing.

Coming to a flat rock, too fatigued to continue, Brock took a load off, lowering himself to the warmed stone and Cerb settled next to him. Alone in nature usually helped soothe him, but losing Clay yesterday, well, he didn’t think anything would lessen the hurt which coursed from the top of his skull to the tips of his toes. Sure, his muscles ached from a day’s worth of digging snow, but the pain he experienced now was emotional, not physical.

Lying back on the rock, he tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the puffy clouds. He was not a man of faith like Ray. No afterlife awaited him … or Clay. It was up to him to keep his brother alive … the kid now only lived in his heart and memories. When Cerb rested his head on his chest, Brock moved one hand to pet him. “He’s only been gone a day, and I miss him so much, Cerb.”

“Whine, ruff, whimper.” _Me too. I’m sorry, I couldn’t find my boy. I tried._ Cerb nuzzled closer needing Brock’s reassurance he was still a good dog even though he didn’t locate his boy.

“You did such a good job. You saved so many. Clay must be buried too deep for you to catch his scent.” Brock blew out a shaky breath. “The world is a cruel place, but I’m glad we got these past few days with him. Never have I seen him so happy and carefree. He was starting to come out of his tunnel vision that our job is all he wanted and began to see he might have more again.”

“Ruff, yip, yip, wuff.”

“Yeah, I agree. The world will be a sadder place without him.”

Cerb scooted up to lick Brock’s cheek, content his partner seemed to understand him more. He tasted the saltiness of Brock’s silent tears, and if dogs could shed tears in the same manner as humans, his eyes would be overflowing with them too.

The two of them nestled together, giving and receiving comfort until Brock’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read the text from Ray. **Candlelight vigil at seven in the church courtyard. Please come.**

Though he didn’t believe in God, Brock decided he would go to support Ray and gain solace being with his brothers.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Porch** _

Trent didn’t go any further than the back porch. His still healing body had been taken to its limit as he worked on triaging those found in the snow, his shoulder not allowing him to dig like the others. He sank down on the padded, double-seater swing and gazed off at Theodul Glacier where tragedy struck.

So many lives would be affected by the capriciousness of Mother Nature. Overhearing several English-speaking volunteer rescuers who skied here often, he learned an avalanche at this time of year was extremely rare, which is why it took everyone by surprise. He and his brothers were not the only ones left in a state of limbo. Five other people besides Clay, two teenage boys, one adult male, and two women, were also still missing.

Trent comprehended their state of mind because not knowing was worse than knowing for sure. Trent couldn’t let go of the tiny flicker of hope still residing in his heart. He refused to snuff out the flame until such time as Clay’s body was located. And as such, his grief would be elongated since his little brother, the man who wormed his way into all of their hearts with his soulful blue eyes, could not be put to rest and given the honors due him until found.

He didn’t want to leave without the kid … even if it meant he escorted him home in a flag-draped coffin. Gut twisting memories of having to break off the search for him in Nepal crept in, and the terrible condition he was in when they found him in Tibet caused tentacles to wrap around his intestines and squeeze. They left him once … ordered to do so … he wouldn’t do it again. He would go AWOL before he would leave Zermatt without Clay.

Trent closed his eyes, his tears shed earlier, his heart aching, he whispered, “Thank you for always trusting my medical skills, even when I didn’t trust myself. You taught me so much, brother. Your laughter and smile will be missed. I will treasure our short time together … you made a true difference in my life.”

He drifted into a light doze as images of times he spent with Clay played in his mind. Somewhere in between the verge of sleep and wakefulness, a flash came to him. Trent bolted upright in the swing too fast as his eyes flew open and his heart raced. As he panted to reclaim his breath which left him in a whoosh, Trent rubbed his eyes, unable to clear the vision.

Trent’s gaze went to the glacier, and he couldn’t shake the muffled throaty voice of Clay saying, “I’m alive. Find me. Save me. Don’t leave me,” or the image of the kid bound, gagged, and lying on a textured carpet. The gagging made no sense because Clay wouldn’t be able to call out with a rag shoved in his mouth.

The buzzing of his phone interrupted his thoughts, and he reached for his cell. He read Ray’s message, and although he didn’t think he possessed the strength to attend the vigil, he would. Perhaps he had a vision and Clay was really calling to him. Or maybe it was only wishful thinking … wanting to thwart Mother Nature and transcend reality to once again cheat the Grim Reaper out of taking Clay from him.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Lügengeschichten Bar** _

Sonny entered the first bar he came across and noted he wasn’t the only one seeking respite in alcohol. He ordered two tequila shots and a beer. Downing one tequila, a memory came in unbidden. The night he took Clay out in Mexico, and they stood in the street as Clay told him about Stella leaving him … and to never fall in love.

His broken heart tripped over its beats, and he almost wished he didn’t possess one. He fell in love … with Davis, but god knows how that would work out. And he fell in love with a little brother. Not a creepy sort of love … just straight forward brotherly love for a blond pup with curly hair who initially set his teeth on edge. When Jason told him to take him under his wing on the first deployment, the little turd had been so friggin’ cocky about everything.

Slamming back the second tequila and chasing it with a swig of beer, Sonny hoped he would become tanked up fast. Unable to handle the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he waved to the barkeep and ordered two more shots. Losing Clay hurt worse than the combined deaths of Nate, Adam, Swanny, and Danny.

After receiving his tequilas, Sonny turned on the stool and peered around the bar, realizing he ended up in the same one he and Simba came to three nights ago. Tall Tales is what Clay said the bar’s name translated to. He recalled teasing him about being a closet nerd with all his book learnin’. Clay responded that it helped with picking up ladies … having the looks and brains to go with them.

They made a bet Clay couldn’t get the numbers for three ladies that night. Sonny should’ve known not to wager against the kid. Not only did he lose fifty, but Mr. GQ talked up four women and hooked up with three of them the next day. The smirk Clay threw his way had indicated he could’ve doubled that if he had put even a little effort forward. The women pretty much fell for his handsome face, blue eyes, and curly golden locks … something he should’ve realized before making a fool’s bet.

Sonny downed the third tequila as he spied two of the women Clay wooed that first night. Sliding off the stool, Sonny finished his fourth tequila as wandered over and took a seat at their table. Alcohol and grief chose his words, “What did you like best about Clay?”

“Excuse me? Who are you?” the twiggy blond said, as the brunette only stared at the exhausted and slightly inebriated man.

“Clay’s brother. Tell me what made him so special?” Sonny’s voice broke a few times.

The brown-haired woman’s eyes sprouted with tears. “No. Oh, God, no.”

“Selena, what’s wrong?”

Pulling a tissue from the depths of her purse, Selena sniffled as she wiped her eyes and focused on the man. “Did he … is he one of the …”

Sonny nodded. “Still missing.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened and also teared up as she answered the initial inquiry. “Your brother … he made me laugh. I was attracted to his smile and his physique. His witty humor drew me in.” Her hand moved, and she touched his. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Selena rose and moved around the table, and without permission turned the muscular man to her and wrapped her arms around him. Choking her words out, she said, “You don’t know us, but if there is anything you need, anything at all, please ask.”

 _Relying on the kindness of strangers_ … the line Clay used to pick up Stella popped into the Texan’s head. He only knew the little detail because Clay rambled on about Stella when he was three sheets to the wind in Mexico.

The first sob surprised him, the second not so much, by the third he didn’t give a rat’s ass he was crying in the arms of a total stranger. The torrential rain of emotions unleashed had as much chance of being stopped as a category five tornado. At some point, the other woman’s arms embraced him too. Leave it to Toto to pick out empathic ladies willing to reach out to the Tinman with their hearts in this land of Oz.

A vibration in his pocket alerted him to his phone. The twister spun him back to the here and now as he disengaged from their arms and reached for his cell. He had to wipe the liquid from his eyes before reading the text.

Releasing a sigh, Sonny peered at the kindhearted women. “Would you like to come with me to a candlelight vigil?”

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Jason stared blankly at the two full whiskey glasses for an unknown amount of time, his mind on pause. He couldn’t and wouldn’t drink a toast to say goodbye … yet. He needed closure … one way or the other. His transient moment ended when his tactical mind reengaged. Without further thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed the one man who could help.

On the fourth ring, the call was answered, and he barreled forwarded without pleasantries. “Eric, I need your help. The kid is missing. I need Alpha, support, and anyone else you can get here by tomorrow morning.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “You’re on vacation. How the hell is he missing from a tiny village?”

Jason transferred all his anguish into remaining on task as he explained, “Avalanche. A tidal wave of snow buried him and many others. Over twenty confirmed dead, thirteen injured, and Clay is among six still unaccounted. We searched for more than twenty-four hours. The rescue leader is apathetic, indicating the kid’s body may never be found. I’m not leaving without Spenser … we never leave a man behind. I need more manpower to continue the search.”

“I’ll get things in motion and call you later with details,” Eric slipped into his time-tested commander mode, one where emotion had no place. Something a good cake-eater must be able to do. As much as he hurt learning that one of his men had been taken out by a freak accident, those living needed him more. Jason needed him to send backup, and he would move heaven and earth to deploy as many people as he could to help in the search.

“Thanks.”

“Jace, how are our boys holding up?”

Peering at the alcohol, Jason clenched his fist tightly. “Not certain.”

“What?”

“They needed space … time alone … so did I. I’m going to round them up, make sure they are safe, and let them know help is coming.”

Eric raked a hand through his hair. “Okay. Call if you need anything else.”

Jason hung up without responding. He stood and prepared to find his boys but halted a moment as he started to shove his cell into his pocket. He noted the group text from Ray. His second in command always had his back. He wouldn’t need to travel all over hell and creation to locate his brothers … they would all, to the last one, heed Ray’s plea to come to the vigil.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Taxi Outside** **Rented Home** _

After settling Spenser in the middle of the back seat next to his bodyguard, Hamid Tabasi slid in and shut his door as he caught the taxi driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Theo Iff turned his head to peer at his slumped passenger. In German, he asked, “Is he sick?”

Responding in the same language, Tabasi configured his face in a somber expression. “My son is distraught over the death of his fiancée in the avalanche and needed to be sedated. We are taking him home. This place is too painful for him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Theo returned his gaze to the front and put the electric car in gear. “I’ll need to take a slightly roundabout way to the train station due to the massive turnout for the candlelight vigil. I won’t charge you for this trip. I’m truly sorry for yours and your son’s loss.”

Tabasi nodded, keeping his countenance solemn. His timing for exiting Zermatt couldn’t be more perfect. The heavy dose of tranquilizers would keep Spenser totally under his control until he could move him into the sleeper car where he could tie him up again. Taking a train all the way to Turkey was tactically smarter because it drew less attention than air travel. From Turkey, he could board his personal plane, and they would land in Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan with no one the wiser.

Dyeing Spenser’s hair black, trimming off all the curls, and shaving his beard changed his appearance enough that no one would easily recognize him. The clothing he now wore also added to the trickery. Tabasi dressed his target in a tailored suit made from the finest materials … which matched the one he wore with only the color of their ties being different. The bearded, blond-haired, jeans and cowboy boot-wearing SEAL now looked like the son of a wealthy tycoon.

However, once he reached his final destination, all illusions would be stripped away, and Spenser would learn the meaning of torture as he paid for his transgressions. _Soon vengeance will be mine._


	2. Truth, Lies, and Trouble Magnet

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Church Courtyard** _

Sonny spotted Ray in the throng and pushed his way forward, making a path for himself, Tiffany, and Selena. He arrived at the same time as Jason and Trent from the opposite direction. The only ones missing, Brock and Cerb. When he received inquiring gazes from the guys, he said, “This is Selena and Tiffany … the kid,” he stopped himself from saying slept with them and changed it to, “talked with these ladies, and they wanted to come.”

As Ray handed out candles to everyone, going through the motions of pleasantries to greet the women, he noted Trent appeared dead on his feet. Their medic overdid, and they needed to be more careful of his health since he was still recovering from three bullet wounds. Ray’s concern telegraphed to Jason, and it didn’t take long for his brother to solve the problem. Jace produced a chair out of nowhere and made Trent sit.

Brock’s and Cerb’s arrival came with the exclamation, “How did a photo of Clay end up on the wall?”

Those who hadn’t noticed stared at the eight by ten picture. Clay was dressed in his tangerine jacket and bright green cap, smiling while holding his rented snowboard.

“It was the best one of those I took. Father Tremblay printed it out for me.” Ray glanced at his brothers. “I had other snapshots, but this one shows him happiest.”

Jason continued to gaze at the image. “That’s because I told him I would foot the bill for his rental equipment if he agreed to wear those colors.”

A chuckle emitted from Trent. “I said I’d pay for his train ticket.”

Sonny’s face split into a grin. “I made a deal to pay for his beer while here.”

“Hotel room for me,” Brock added.

Ray gaped as he realized they all had made deals unbeknownst to one another to gain Clay’s compliance. “Well, I paid for his lift tickets. No wonder he was happy … almost free vacation.”

Sobering, Sonny said, “Would give everything I own to have Toto standing here instead of his photo on that damned wall.”

Brock eyed Sonny. “Toto’s a new one.”

“Yeah.” Sonny didn’t expand. He didn’t want to share with them he wished to be the heartless Tinman of Oz because losing Clay hurt too damned much. He was saved from explaining when Jason began to tell them about his call to Blackburn, and that reinforcement would be arriving in the morning to help them continue their searching.

As the sun began to set, people started to light candles and place flowers against the wall reserved for photos of those who perished on the mountain. The international gathering resulted in a mix of languages as people talked about their loved ones and received condolences from strangers as the crowd ebbed and flowed.

Sofia made her way along the wall of the lost, searching for images of those she met on her trip. She half-expected to find pictures of Clay’s friends. So, it came as an utter shock when she spied Clay’s face on the wall of the six missing. She shook her head. “This can’t be right.”

Turning in a circle, trying to find someone in charge to ask why Clay was listed as missing, shock rippled through her again when she spotted all of Clay’s buddies … including the dog who could snowboard. What a sight that had been. She hurried over to the man who owned the pup, and her hand landed on his arm. “Excuse me.”

Brock pivoted. “Yes.”

“Do you remember me?”

Recognizing the lady Clay slept with last night, he said, “Sofia?”

She nodded. “Sofia Tanzer. You’re Brock, right?”

“Yeah.”

Pointing at Clay’s smiling image, she asked, “Why is Clay there?”

Brock blinked as her question caught the other guys' attention. He swallowed an emotional lump as he answered, “We haven’t found him. Clay went up on the car before us, and we saw the avalanche cover him.”

Shaking her head again, Sofia said, “Can’t be. He was at the cable station right after the avalanche. I thought you all had been lost … he couldn’t even walk … some guy was helping him.”

“What do you mean?” Jason’s trouble antennae twitched with her words.

“Exactly that. I tried to go to him but was cut-off by emergency workers. By the time my path was clear … I couldn’t see him in the chaos. I didn’t know where he was staying, so I came tonight, hoping to find him and check if he needed a friendly face.” Her gaze moved back to his picture.

“Are you certain it was Clay?” Trent asked, his vision of Clay gagged and pleading they save him coming to the forefront of his mind.

“Yes, though …” she trailed off.

“What?” Sonny stepped closer, hope flickering to light in his wounded heart.

“He wasn’t wearing his orange jacket or neon green cap. I spotted his blond hair. Then I glimpsed his face … I’m positive it was Clay. But if you are here … maybe he was hurt, and the guy was taking him to the hospital or something.”

Jason shook his head. “There is no way he could’ve skied out of the way of the avalanche … and he was wearing his orange coat.”

When Cerb nudged his hand, Brock glanced down and then to Sofia. “Can you describe the man who was helping him?”

Twirling a finger through her hair, a nervous tick which always occurred when in deep thought, Sofia tried to recall details. “Salt and pepper hair … well-dressed with designer clothing … a bit taller than Clay. He had to stoop a little with Clay’s arm slung over his shoulders. Funny, my first thought was Clay was drunk, but then I realized it was too early in the morning. That’s when I decided he must’ve lost one or more of you guys.”

The truth of what likely occurred dawned on all of them as Jason shoved his candle at Ray. “We need to find out if there are cameras anywhere in the station. If Sofia really saw Clay, then he’s in trouble.”

Ray handed off both candles to Trent. “I’m coming with you.”

“We need to contact Blackburn!” Sonny added his candle to those in Trent’s hands.

“Sofia, would you be willing to show me where you last saw Clay?” Brock gave his flicking candle into Trent’s care. But then something niggled at his mind. “Sonny, if someone took Clay, we don’t know why. Trent’s in no shape to be alone.”

Sonny nodded. As much as he wanted to be doing something to find Clay, he would not sacrifice Trent. “I’ll call Blackburn for you, Jace.”

Nodding, Jason agreed, acknowledging Sonny needed something to occupy him as he guarded Trent. If trouble was afoot, and if someone took Clay then they all might be targets.

When the others dispersed, Trent peered up at Sonny. “Thanks for staying. We should head back to our hotel.”

Sonny took all the candles and passed them out to other people then offered a hand to his exhausted brother and helped him to rise. As they began a slow trek to the bed and breakfast, Sonny said, “Wish Toto had a pair of ruby slippers he could click three times and come home to us.”

Trent chuckled. “You do know it is Dorothy who wore the slippers, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you think this is for real … that someone took our brother?” Sonny slipped his arm around Trent’s waist and tugged his uninjured arm over his shoulders when Trent stumbled.

“With the kid, anything is possible. He’s a trouble magnet.” He sighed and shared, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I had a semi-awake dream he was bound and gagged and calling to us to save him. He was laying on blue carpet with a twisting vine texture or design. Couldn’t figure how he could talk when gagged, but it felt so real. Weird, huh?”

Sonny snorted. “I’m in Oz, and you’re in the Twilight Zone.”

* * *

_**Zürich, Switzerland – Zürich Stadelhofen** _

“Careful with my son,” speaking Turkmen, Tabasi affected a concerned mien for the benefit of any spectators as his bodyguards transferred Spenser from his reclining seat into a wheelchair. Still somewhat surprised during the four-hour train ride that his target had not stirred once, he kept checking his pulse and respirations, which added to the illusion of worry.

His real reason … Tabasi wanted to ensure his quarry survived and he hadn’t dosed him too much. After all his planning, the sheer cost of the information he bought, and all his patience, he didn’t want Spenser dying before he could torture him. A simple, easy death would not be in the cards for the man who killed his sons and sought to bring down his organization. No, Tabasi wouldn’t allow him to die quietly via a muscle relaxer and tranquilizer overdose.

Aware of motion and sounds, voices speaking a language he didn’t comprehend, and unable to make his muscles cooperate with orders to open his eyes or talk, Clay was nothing more than a ragdoll at the mercy of whoever took him. He focused on the noises and finally determined he was on a train, but then it came to a halt.

Clay’s head lolled on his chest, neck muscles non-existent and unable to keep it upright. He didn’t resist, not that he could’ve at this point, but also, he believed remaining docile and pretending to be unconscious to be his best strategy. He might overhear something which would give him a clue as to where he was and an opportunity to escape.

Though escaping seemed a bit farfetched at the moment since he couldn’t even lift his pinky on command. He fought the rising panic which came from being so vulnerable and from the realization he was no longer in Zermatt. He refocused on his surroundings … using skills he learned, and still sucked at, during the time his eyes were covered in the hospital.

Being transferred into a rolling chair meant they were likely portraying him as an invalid or ill. The bumps indicated they left the train, and the breeze on his face signified they were outside. His tummy rumbling and the gnawing emptiness made it apparent he had not eaten in some time … though not sure how long. A car horn went off in the distance, but he focused on the sounds closer to him.

The next destination didn’t appear to be too far because his chair stopped after only a short walk, or roll in his case. Clay wanted to yell ‘jackpot’ when he overheard a girl ask her dad in French if they were now in Zurich and the father replied yes and their night train to Belgrade would be arriving shortly. Though it would’ve been more helpful if he could’ve called out for help, neither was happening … he was a proverbial lump on a log.

Several minutes later, the girl’s squeal of delight and rapid-fire chattering about going to visit her grandparents, combined with an announcement in multiple languages told Clay her train arrived. And after a few more minutes, it appeared to be his train too as the wheelchair began moving once again.

His abductor switched to French as he spoke to the porter, and Clay now understood why no one questioned why he was non-responsive. Supposedly he was the man’s son, and was being taken home after a complete mental breakdown … the reason why he was sedated and no one was to enter the private sleeper car. _Well, shit. How am I gonna get out of this?_

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Cable Car Station** _

Finding the station empty, closed, and doors locked, searching efforts stopped for today and everyone apparently at the vigil, at home, or hotels resting, Jason pivoted to stare up at the mountain. The mobile lights used through last night to illuminate the area were off, and only moonlight cast an eerie glow over the slope.

“We’ll find him.” Ray lay a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason nodded. “We saw orange and green. If it wasn’t Clay, then who the hell was wearing his things?”

“Don’t have a clue, brother.”

Sofia peered through the window and spoke to Brock, “I was sitting on the third bench on the left side.” She glanced at the dog. “Can he truly sniff out Clay after so long?”

“Not certain, but it is worth a shot.”

Ray glimpsed a janitor inside and knocked until he got the man’s attention, glad he came to the door and hoped he spoke English. When it opened, Ray asked, “Do you have security cameras here?” His hopes were dashed as the janitor only scrunched his brows, not understanding.

Tugging on the partially opened door, Jason took matters into his own hands. He strode into the station and began searching for the telltale cameras while the ticked off man let loose a torrent of words Jason didn’t comprehend. However, he expected them to be something along the lines of ‘What the hell? You can’t be in here. I’m calling the police,’ when the trailing man pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Stay here,” Brock said to Sofia as he, Cerb, and Ray trespassed right behind Jason.

“There!” Jason pointed to one camera as Brock headed for the benches.

“One over here,” Ray said as he took the opposite side. He tapped the angry man’s shoulder and pointed up. “Camera. Security.” The language barrier didn’t improve with a visual.

Brock let Cerberus roam all over and around the benches as the other two found several more cameras which would give a complete view of the interior, but Cerb didn’t locate a scent he could track. A dead end.

It didn’t take long for the police to show up and luckily both officers spoke English well. When Officer Trachsler translated for them as they explained why they needed to see the video feed, the perturbed janitor became quite cooperative and ushered all of them to the security room.

Trachsler took a seat at the desk and said, “When did you say he went missing?”

“Shortly after the avalanche, but I want to go back to just before we got into line for the cable car. We need to find out if there is a salt-and-peppered man on the same car as Clay.”

Finding the right time-stamp, Trachsler let the footage run. Their hopes sunk further when they only caught a glimpse of the back of the head of a man with black and white hair … no facial capture. They noted the car number Clay entered and watched until it returned to the bottom. Just before the door opened, the feed went all squiggly, and as they viewed one after another camera produced the same interference before finally becoming clear again, they all came to the same conclusion.

Jason raked fingers through his hair. “This was not random. Whoever took Clay had accomplices, and this is well orchestrated.”

Trachsler wasn’t sure who these men were, but he recognized a military bearing. And though he shouldn’t, he shared a piece of information with them. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but there is an indication the avalanche was not natural. If as you say, this isn’t random, the culprit might’ve caused it to cover his tracks. I suggest we go talk to our Sergeant.”

“I agree.” Jason’s mind began to turn, examining many possibilities, none of which he liked. He would need to contact Blackburn again and request he bring at least one of the tech wizards and Mandy too.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Trent's Room** _

Sonny tucked Trent into bed, made sure he took his pain meds and brought him a snack before he made the call to Blackburn. After hanging up, he turned from the window he stared out of to check on Trent. Noting the dark circles under his eyes, Sonny wished they had been more cognizant of Trent’s level of exhaustion.

He lowered himself into a chair, taking his role as overwatch of his injured brother seriously. Sonny realized that even if they had tried to make him rest yesterday, Trent would’ve denied his fatigue when total strangers needed medical care. Though, part of Sonny also recognized one of the reasons Trent didn’t tell them he was wiped out is because he wanted to be on-hand if they located Clay.

“We’re all mule-headed,” Sonny murmured to no one since Trent dropped into sleep while he talked with Blackburn. His phone still in his hand began buzzing, and Sonny answered, “Jace, find anything?”

After listening to the status, he blew out a long breath. “You won’t be able to contact Blackburn. I caught him right before he was taking off. All of Alpha, support, Mandy, and her techs boarded a commercial flight together. He, Mandy, and Alpha planned to take a helo here instead of the train with the others. Send him a text and tell him to add Lester. We’re gonna need his skills for the computer stuff.”

They exchanged a few more details before disconnecting. With nothing to do but wait now, Sonny turned his tumultuous thoughts to who might’ve taken the kid. _Ashhole is dead, so he can’t be involved. Spencer Clayton is in prison … and unless he’s got some rich uncle, there is no way he has funds or the know-how to orchestrate this._

When he couldn’t put his finger on a primary target, Sonny growled and rested his head on the back of the chair. “Whoever took you, Toto, I swear they will pay. You hang on wherever you are, you hold tight. We’re coming for you, and once we find you, the assholes will be taking dirt naps.”

* * *

_**Train Bound for Belgrade** _

Using his well-honed sniper skills, ones which allowed him to lay in wait, concealed, and unmoving for hours on end, Clay continued his ruse of being unconscious and unaware when he discovered he could move his hand as they transferred him from the wheelchair to a narrow bed. His talent sorely tested sometime later when two men stripped him down completely. He wanted to thunder, to fight, to kill when hands roamed over his lower half, taking liberties which caused both embarrassment and fury. Thankfully, the familiar voice barked something incomprehensible, and they stopped before their actions turned into full-fledged rape.

As someone covered his naked body, he caught the sound of the door opening and closing with footfalls between. His effort to remain still and non-reactionary during the assault paid off as a throaty voice spoke in English. “So, this is the infidel who killed your sons and put mine in prison.”

“Yes,” Tabasi replied.

“Why is he not tied up? Spenser is a SEAL and capable of extreme violence.”

“The tranquilizer and muscle relaxer are quite potent … more so than I thought. He is still fully incapacitated. I had my guards test him. No man would allow himself to be touched in such a manner and not react if capable. He will be restrained once he shows the slightest sign of waking. I cannot give him more drugs for several more hours for fear of killing him before I exact my revenge.”

“Our revenge. And he needs to be restrained now before he wakes. I don’t want everything we did to go to waste.”

Clay listened, thrown for a loop … this was not random. They knew who he was and what he did. He had been targeted. As his hands were put palms together and twine wound around his wrists, he debated whether to make his move now. He almost jerked out of the grasp but halted when the newcomer's voice said, “After you do that, care to join me in the dining car for tea?”

His arms were lifted above his head, and the rope must’ve been tied to something above and behind him, as the cultured accented voice replied, “Yes. This should hold him for now. My guard will be outside the room as a secondary measure.”

After the voices receded and the door opened and closed again, Clay waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, he lifted his lashes a tiny bit and surveyed what he could view without moving. Finding no one in his limited field of vision, he allowed his head to slowly roll to both sides, taking in the entire room. Empty except for him.

Tilting his eyes upward to peer at his hands a toothy grin played on Clay’s face. The knot would be simple enough to undo. His smile faded as he found moving to be more troublesome than expected. His legs slow to comply with his commands. Once he managed to scoot up far enough, using his teeth, he worked to loosen the binding.

As his arms fell free, a sense of euphoria surged through him until he realized he was on a speeding train. Therefore his escape options were limited. On tottery legs, Clay wobbled to the tiny bathroom to grab a towel to wrap around himself because leaving here naked wouldn’t be preferable.

His eyes widened when he spied his reflection. Shaven, hair trimmed … and black. S _hit, a lot of planning went into taking me. Who the hell are they, and who did I put in prison and kill? Sonny is right … I’m a fucking trouble magnet._

The list for both could include any number of terrorists he had captured or terminated during his tenure with Bravo, as well as those eliminated during his tours with SEAL Team Three. Tugging a towel off the rack, Clay decided who didn’t matter at the moment … escaping them did.

Making his way to the door on rubbery legs, using the wall for support, Clay hoped he possessed enough control over his muscles to thwart the guard outside, and enough luck to find a place to hide or a way to communicate with his brothers.


	3. Escape Thwarted, Trent’s Dream, Tasks, and Tabasi the Terrible

_**Train Bound for Belgrade** _

Reaching the door, Clay tethered himself to the wall gripping the metal coat hook to the left. As he extended his hand to the knob, he realized he wasn’t thinking clearly. They had undressed him, so clothing must be in the room. He turned and scanned, noting a neatly folded pile. _Do I dare take the extra time to dress?_

Deciding pants were a must Clay wobbled to the table holding the garments. He let the towel drop and grabbed the black slacks. He had to sit to shove his legs in, and as he did so, he mentally ran through his training for unarmed combat, trying to determine which method to use. He figured if he could get behind the guy and wrap his arm around his neck, a chokehold would be his best bet. If he attacked fast enough, he might be able to pull the guard into the room before anyone spotted him.

His fingers not cooperating, the drugs inhibiting his usual dexterity, Clay had trouble pulling up the zipper. He stood as he tried to button them, and his ears, not affected, picked up a slight snick. He pivoted just as the door pushed open. _Shit, if I didn’t stop to put on clothes._

That was all the time Clay had to think before the towering man who had to turn sideways to get through the door rushed him. He couldn’t lose this opportunity, and twisted to the left, hoping to slip past the guard. Unfortunately, the tardive effects of the drugs made him slower than normal, and a treelike arm clotheslined his neck, knocking him to the ground.

Clay’s head slammed against the edge of the table on the way down, stunning him. He gasped for breath, his throat burning from the strike. The toady grin which came to the guy’s face as he loomed over him, ticked off Clay, and he decided to use every dirty tactic at his disposal. Gathering all his strength, he sent his foot straight for the man’s testicles … payback for someone copping a feel of his junk earlier and a means by which to gain his freedom.

Treeman dropped to his knees with a grunt as his hands went to his groin. Clay scrambled for the door on his knees. He didn’t bother to look back as he slammed it shut behind him … giving him a few more seconds head start. Noting the direction of the passing scenery via blips of light since it was nighttime, Clay headed for the front of the train. _If I can get to the engine and the conductor, I can get a message out to Bravo._

He started running … well, more like a fast walk because his leg muscles still trembled and threatened to give out. Dizziness and a well-known, and much-hated nausea coupled with a thundering headache told him the bump on his head had been enough to jangle his brains. A flash thought ran through his mind … _will I end up like Swanny with TBI_ … but he shoved it away as he reached the end of the car.

Tugging on the door, he opened it and stepped into the enclosed vestibule. His gait unsteady, Clay grabbed hold of the bar as he crossed the flexible gangway connection. Yanking the other door open, and stepping inside, Clay’s world tilted and spun. _No. No. I need to keep going._ Digging deep, he staggered forward … into the dining car. His eyes lit on the salt-and-pepper-haired man. _Shit, wrong way._

Tabasi’s eyes widened with surprise upon seeing Spenser clad in only slacks. He stood and donned his concerned façade. In another life, he might’ve been a thespian … though his acting skills helped in his chosen line of work. “Son, what are you doing out of bed? The doctor said you can’t—”

“I’M NOT YOUR SON.” Clay scanned the interior, and his eyes settled on a man with a little girl. “My name is Clay Spenser. I’ve been abducted by that man.” He pointed at the man who took him. When only confused expressions met his words, he switched to French and repeated his words, which piqued the curiosity of those in the car.

Prepared for this eventuality, and several others, Tabasi used French when he replied. “Son, please … I am your father. You’re ill and having trouble with reality.” Tabasi noted two of his men approaching from behind Spenser.

Still speaking French, Clay said, “Quit calling me son. My father is dead, and he never gave a rat’s ass about me.” He moved a few more steps forward. “I need to contact the authorities.” Clay rubbed his head, the thunder in his brain increasing he fought to remain upright and keep his eyes open.

Tabasi played to his audience. “You wound me. I love you. I’m taking you home. Please … you’re not well. Your paranoid delusions returned. I don’t want to restrain you. But I will, to protect you from yourself.” He held in the smile as he decided to use the scar caused by the hook in Mexico. “Please don’t become violent again. You have too many scars and have hurt too many people already. Let me take you back to your room, and you can take your meds.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Your plan failed.” Clay’s eyes shifted to the man with the child. “Believe me … I’m not his son. My name is Clay—”

He never got to finish his sentence as electrodes embedded in his back and voltage coursed through his body. Clay dropped to the floor, jerking as the taser’s electricity caused his muscles to spasm.

Continuing his act, Tabasi rushed to Spenser and knelt, holding his head in his lap. “This is for your own good. I’m so sorry … but you left me no other choice.”

Tabasi turned sad eyes to the man Spenser had directed his comments to and noted the tiny child clung to him with fear on her face. “I’m sorry this terrified your daughter. You understand a father’s love. I would do anything to protect my son. I would go to any length to keep him safe from harm … sadly, mental illness is a difficult enemy to fight.”

“Yes, I understand.” He held his girl and thanked his lucky stars she was the picture of physical and mental health. He couldn’t imagine the pain that father must be going through.

Redirecting his gaze to his bodyguards, one of whom would be dead before sunrise due to his failure, Tabasi used Turkmen to instruct them in the only language his men spoke, ordering them to take Spenser back to the room, tie his hands and legs and he would be along in a few minutes to administer more tranquilizer.

Standing, he let out a sigh and returned to the table. In English, he said, “I must go now. It was a pleasure to dine with you. Perhaps we can meet later to continue our discussion.” Tabasi took his leave, glancing at the man with the girl, and receiving a sympathetic nod. 

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Trent’s Room** _

Trent bolted upright in bed as he screamed, “NOOOOO!”

Awakened from a dead sleep, Sonny flicked on the lamp on the table between the beds. When Jason and the others returned several hours ago, he swapped rooms with Brock, deciding to remain with Trent. Cerb appeared happy to be going to his and Clay’s room, and he suspected the hair missile would be sleeping on the kid’s bed.

With speed he moved to Trent, noting his whole body trembled and he was drenched in sweat. They all had nightmares on occasion, having all witnessed terrible things … the lowest of humanity. So, he sat next to his brother, laid a hand on his thigh in support, a tether of sorts to the real world, and waited as Trent’s breathing began to return to normal.

His back on fire, a tingling sensation with no real source ran through Trent’s arms and legs, while his head throbbed. Once his panting slowed, he met Sonny’s eyes. “Kid’s hurting.”

Squinting, unsure he heard correctly, Sonny asked, “What?”

“They hurt Clay.”

“How do you know?”

Forgetting about his injured shoulder, Trent lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but the pain reminded him, and he hissed as he let it drop beside him.

Sonny reached for the pill bottle, shook out two tablets, and held them out for Trent to take with his uninjured side. He provided water after their medic popped the pain meds into his mouth. Once finished, Sonny rose and went to the bathroom, wetted a washcloth, and returned, handing it to Trent so he could wipe his face. He moved several pillows behind his buddy and then resumed his seat next to him. “Better?”

Leaning back on the soft cushioning, the fire in his back beginning to dissipate, Trent sighed. “Shit, Sonny, you’re gonna think my mind has cracked.”

“Another dream?”

Trent shook his head, nodded, then shook again. “Hell, if I know. Again, it seemed so fucking real … like I was right there with the kid. And this time I felt what he did. Maybe it’s an effect of my painkillers … vivid dreams and such.”

“Tell me.”

Trailing the cool, damp rag over his face, a tremor went through Trent again. He met Sonny’s gaze. “A huge guy slammed his head into a table when the kid tried to escape a little room. It didn’t make much sense … everything sped by so fast becoming a blur. He ended up in another room, strange, narrow, with tables on both sides. Then something hit his back … and he was on fire.”

“Fire?”

Trent swallowed and hesitated. “Not fire as in flames … like electricity flowing through him … searing all his nerve endings. He was in terrible pain before he blacked out.” Trent shut his eyes. “God, I sound like a lunatic, but fuck … what if it is real?”

Sonny blew out a breath. “Then we find the fuckers and mete out justice a thousand-fold for hurting our brother. Kid’s strong. He’s gonna hang in there until we figure out who and where they took him. Blackburn and the rest will be here in the morning. Think you can go back to sleep?”

His eyes flicked to the clock, and Trent noted it was four in the morning. “Jason and the others find anything?”

“Only that the police think the avalanche was manufactured and security video at the station which goes fuzzy … which means the kid was the intended target all along. Whoever did this have resources aplenty.”

Trent’s heart wrenched. “All those people dead, just to take one? Shit, they are ruthless. Any ideas floating around as to who and why?”

“Some, but we’re gonna let Mandy and her team do the digging on the ideas. You, my brother, need your rest. They’ll be here about nine.” Sonny returned to his bed. “So, try to go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay.”

As he lay down, Sonny added, “And if you visit the Twilight Zone again, tell Toto we’re coming for him.”

Trent couldn’t help the tiny smile that came to his face. He would’ve lost the bet, had he wagered when the kid first joined their team. Never in a million years would he have suspected Sonny Quinn would become so close with Clay Spenser. He initially believed they were as combustible as a lit match and gasoline and as compatible as oil and water.

And for himself, Trent wondered if this might be some weird telepathic link to the kid or just his drugged mind and wild imagination making up shit. The latter made the most sense to his scientific mind, but either way, this twisted gut as much as every time the kid did something heroically stupid and ended up injured.

As he drifted to sleep, Trent recalled the first time Clay saved his life. The night they went after Nazeri, and the kid saved him by taking down the target who almost knifed him in the back … while suffering from a kidney infection. _Yeah, Sonny’s right. Kid, you are strong. Hang on, we’ll find you, and if you’re hurt, I’ll take care of you._

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Orange juice in hand, Trent sipped, as Jason filled in Blackburn, Mandy, Alpha Team, and Lester on what they found on the video and what the police sergeant told them. Trent chose to keep his little trip to the Twilight Zone to himself, and thankfully, Sonny didn’t inform them.

Mandy stared at Jason. “They found evidence explosives were planted and set off to cause an avalanche?”

Nodding, Jason reached for his coffee. Though he slept last night, it had been fitful. “Yes.”

After yawning, Lester Thomson, Mandy’s lead tech wizard, downed the last of his black coffee. “I’ll head over to the cable car station. I want to start on the video. I might be able to tweak it and find an image of the mystery man. If they wanted Clay, it is likely they stalked him and acted when the timing worked to their advantage.”

Mandy added, “If Clay had a tail, which seems highly likely we need to go to all the places you guys visited since you arrived. Some of them might have surveillance cameras, and we might get lucky.”

“Do you think he is still here somewhere? If not, the only way out is via taxi, train, or bus. Perhaps we should check with those places.” Brock broke a piece of toast in half and handed one part to Cerb who lay on the floor beside him. He slept until Jason rapped on his door, and he rushed down, still dressing, not wanting to miss the discussion, and as such had not fed his pup yet.

Eric considered everything before saying, “Let’s map out a search plan, and when the rest of support arrives, we’ll split up and cover everything much faster. For now, you men need to eat and make a list of everywhere Clay went. While you do that, I’m going to the police station to chat with Sergeant Taubert. We will need their cooperation in obtaining video from local businesses.”

As everyone nodded, a man cleared his throat, and they all turned to the doorway. Jason stood as he recognized Tom Friedrich, the leader of the search party.

“Excuse the interruption.” Tom’s face showed sadness as he focused on Jason. “We found your friend about thirty minutes ago. Orange jacket, green hat. I’m sorry, he isn’t alive.” Tom didn’t get the reaction he expected. Five men all reached for phones as they stood and five phones we’re shoved in his face, all showing a blond man in the colorful garments.

Jason spoke for them all. “Does he look like this?”

“No. He has brown hair. And the facial features are nothing like that … he’s clean-shaven.” Again, Tom was taken aback by the whoops of cheering and smiles. “Is that not him?”

Eric took the lead as he said, “No. That isn’t Clay. I need to know where the body was taken. We need a photo.”

“He was taken to the morgue. I can show you there if you wish.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Eric started forward and turned back to Bravo. “We’re going to find the kid and obtain justice for those killed by this heinous act.” He strode away as his mind twirled with whether this might be connected with them going after the IIB, and if so, the avalanche could be considered an act of terrorism.

* * *

_**Train Bound for Belgrade** _

Tabasi finished buttoning his shirt as he stared at Spenser. His target now fully strapped down. He disliked that he underestimated the man last night, but that wouldn’t happen again. He moved to the table and opened his briefcase, stopping to smile at the passports he had made. The forgeries would be undetectable … though using his son’s real name, Akcay Tabasi, for Spenser left a bad taste in his mouth.

Withdrawing a prefilled syringe, he injected the mixture of muscle relaxer and tranquilizer into Spenser’s arm. A light rap on the door called his attention, and he went to answer. Opening only slightly, he spied the conductor. He anticipated a visit after the scene in the dining car last evening. “May I help you?” he spoke in fluent French.

“I needed to check on your son and ensure we won’t have a repeat situation. If he is a threat to himself and others, you will need to leave the train in Belgrade instead of continuing to Sofia.”

Tabasi swung his door open wider and assumed a saddened expression. “As you can see, I’ve taken the necessary precautions. He will remain restrained and medicated for the remainder of our travel home. I had a father’s hope he would be okay, and against my better judgment, I reduced the sedative yesterday. I won’t do so again until he is safely home. My apologies to those who were frightened by his behavior.”

Noting all four limbs of the crazy man were secured with soft cuffs, the train conductor nodded. “Okay. See that he doesn’t get loose or I will stop at the nearest station and require you to disembark for the safety of the other passengers.”

“Understood.” Tabasi shut the door and strode over to the tray his lead bodyguard, Dinc, brought for him. He sat and lifted his green tea as he selected a piece of melon.

He was now down one man. Ferit failed by allowing Spenser to escape and had been forced to consume an entire bottle of tequila and then in the wee hours, Dinc ensured Ferit tripped and fell off the back of the train. If his body was ever found, it would appear to be a tragic accident.

And Ferit wouldn’t be connected to him since they came aboard separately. Tabasi only traveled with Dinc and Ulker as his official guards. The rest booked as individuals and maintained anonymity, following their strict orders — all well-aware of the penalty for screwing up or not following through.

He made that clear with both Ferit and Tek in the past few days. He ordered Tek to don Spenser’s clothes on the slope and be a decoy. Tek deserved death because he failed to keep Akcay, Korer, and Vedat alive. The previously trusted man believe he had been forgiven when he provided the image of the man responsible for killing them, but Tek was unaware of his impending death sentence via avalanche.

Tabasi ruled with an iron fist and fear … no one who displeased or failed him survived. Many he put to death quickly, but Spenser, he would enjoy torturing for a long time … perhaps even years. He popped the melon into his mouth and chewed as he thought about creating a life for Spenser where he would beg for death on a daily basis. 


	4. Trent’s Gut, Mandy’s Thoughts, and Taylor’s Puzzle

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Mrs. Ginette Mallet, the owner of the bed and breakfast, allowed them to make her dining room their command center. The grandmotherly woman possessed a kind heart and Clay had worked his magic on her the first day they arrived. She hoped they found him and was thankful he had not perished on the mountain with so many others.

After a late afternoon nap, by order of both Jason and Blackburn, Trent wandered downstairs and into the temporary TOC. One table was filled with five laptops, and three of the tech guys had their eyes glued to monitors as they scanned video footage brought to them by the others scouring the town. He snagged a glass of iced tea and several cookies and found an empty seat next to Mandy. “How’s it going?”

Pausing the tape, Mandy turned to Trent, noting the dark circles under his eyes appeared somewhat diminished. “Wish I had better news for you … but nothing solid yet. We have noted several people around Clay in various places, but with as small as this town is, it could be only coincidence. Lester is running facial rec on them, but again, nothing flagged.

“The man with black and white hair is almost ghost-like. He must possess a keen sense or had prior knowledge of where cameras are located because all we ever get is the back of his head.”

Trent nodded. “What about the taxis and train station, any sign of Clay on those cameras?”

“No one fitting his description. Jason and Ray are speaking with every taxi driver … not too long of a list, but locating each one is taking a bit of time. Sonny and Brock are interviewing the bus drivers who worked since the avalanche. Alpha and the support team are canvassing the area with Clay’s photo and asking everyone if they’ve seen him.”

“What about an ID on the guy wearing Clay’s jacket … and is it actually Clay’s or did the guy just happen to be wearing the same clothes?”

Mandy pushed a photo to Trent. “This is the man. His name is Tek Uzer, a Turkmen. His passport and papers found in his hotel room indicate he worked for a melon export company, and unsent postcards found in his room indicate he was here on holiday. Additional digging is needed to validate that. As for the clothes, nothing indicates they are Clay’s, but forensics will be checking them for trace elements.”

“You mean DNA?”

“Yeah. But that will take several days. The Swiss police will be sending them to a lab in Zürich. That’s all for now.” When Trent took a bite of his cookie, Mandy turned back to her computer.

Trent chewed slowly as he considered the progress … or lack thereof in finding Clay, and he toyed with revealing something to Mandy, not wanting her to think he was loco. “Um, Mandy?”

“Yeah.” She continued to scan the footage, but when Trent didn’t proceed, she stopped and turned to him.

“This is going to sound like I’m touched in the head, but … is there any way to possibly find out if any hotels or rental properties have blue carpet with a vine texture?”

“I’m not sure. Would be quite difficult. Why?”

“Just a gut feeling … something which came to me before the candlelight vigil … like Clay might be held in a room with carpet like that. It probably means nothing. Sorry for wasting your time.” Trent stood and came face-to-face with Mrs. Mallet.

“I’m not eavesdropping, but as I brought in more cookies, I overheard your question. My friend Norbert rents a home on the other side of town. Last summer, after the flood, he had to replace his carpet. I helped him pick it out. It is blue with a swirling black vine pattern. I can give you his number and address if you think it might help find that young man.”

Trent chuckled. “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

“You’re not going—” Mandy rose, but Trent cut her off.

“I’m not staying here.”

“If you let me finish, I was going to say you can’t go alone. You are still recovering, and if there’s trouble, well, I’m coming with you, and you’re going to call Jason before we go.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy with the details.” Mrs. Mallet toddled out, beaming at how all of these people seemed to take such good care of one another.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Rental Home** _

While waiting for Jason to arrive, Mandy stood as Trent lowered himself to the front step. She noted even mild exercise still left him winded and wondered how the heck Trent managed to stay on the mountain helping so many people for over twenty-four hours. The men of Bravo were a marvel to her. They had a capacity to put their pains and exhaustion on the back burner when lives were at stake.

Although she never intended to become close with men she sent into dangerous situations, Mandy now admitted, at least to herself, every last one of them claimed territory in her heart. Jason had breached her fortification first, surprisingly followed by the most tightlipped member of the team. Perhaps it was Cerb who helped Brock break through her defenses.

The third was Ray. She appreciated his ability to always have Jason’s back and provide a level-head when the team started to go off the rails. It was almost fitting that fourth was Bravo Four. The man worked tirelessly to care for his brothers. She often found his nose in a medical text while flying to or from a mission.

Sonny came fifth … his larger than Texas … balls to the walls … no holds barred approach to life oftentimes confused her. Especially after she glimpsed that below the gruff exterior beat the heart of a true warrior and teddy bear. A strange mix, but it suited the Texan to a T.

The last, even after Blackburn and Davis, was Spenser, but that might be expected since he was the newest member and she worked with the others much longer. Her first interaction with Clay had been when he was ticked off about being called a strap and Davis denying him the ability to hang a hammock when he joined Bravo as an interrupter for one mission before he graduated Green Team. He initially came off cocky … too brash, not in Sonny’s confident manner, more like a testy and querulous child trying to prove he was better than everyone.

The mission where Carlson put the kid at risk was the turning point for her. She, like the rest, assumed he came aboard drunk and she treated him terribly … not something she was proud of by any means. And from there, mission after mission, she began to recognize he backed up all his cockiness with talents … ones which saved his brothers and completed the objective on many occasions.

Sometime during the Mexico operation is when the blond kid wormed into her heart. She cried crocodile tears, once alone, of course, after viewing the picture of him hooked like a tuna. She also recognized how Clay changed the entire team. He brought something to the table they all needed, but had not realized … he made it alright for them to be human.

None of them would ever be truly touchy-feely types, no one in their line of work could afford to lower their shield completely, or they would be eaten alive by the horrors they witnessed and the people they lost. But with Clay, his desire for a family … his need for one … for brothers and sisters … his almost innocent vulnerability when knocked for a loop, touched each of them.

Spenser would always be a dichotomy to her, much like Sonny. Mandy believed, no matter how old he became, Clay would never lose the kid moniker. There was a little boy reflected in those blue orbs who occasionally begged to be held, loved, and wanted, and his brothers never failed to come through for him in his time of need. And at the same time, those eyes revealed the soul of a man with true grit, honor, and fortitude willing to give everything he possessed, his life included, to protect his chosen family and the country he loved.

Mandy sighed, hoping her talents would produce what everyone desperately wanted. This time she was not searching for some low-life terrorist, but for a little brother, she never expected to have. She wouldn’t rest, she would work as tirelessly as Trent had on that mountain, to find Clay so Bravo could bring him home where he belonged.

Trent rose as Jason and Brock approached. “About time.”

Jason ignored the snippy remark, mostly because he agreed, but in reality, he had been on the other side of this town and with only a few electric taxis, the only readily available transportation were his own two feet. “What makes this place hit the radar, Mandy?”

She peered at Trent, leaving it to him to explain … or not.

“If it pans out, I’ll tell you, if not, let’s chalk it up to painkillers.”

Brock chuckled at Trent’s non-explanation and trotted up the stairs behind the others. Mandy knocked and was met by Mr. Norbert Foster, who ushered them in. Cerb strained on his lead once they entered and tried to go up the stairs. “May I go up?”

“Ja.” Norbert nodded and turned to the pretty lady as the man with the dog and another headed up the staircase. “Ginette said you are looking for someone.”

“Yes, a friend. We believed he perished in the avalanche, but now it seems he may have been abducted.” Mandy pulled out her phone and showed him a photo of Clay. “Have you seen him?”

Shaking his head, Norbert said, “Nein. He did not rent my place.”

Jason stepped in, “Can you describe the person who rented?”

Norbert pursed his lips. “Tall. Swarthy. Broad shoulders. Black hair. Brown eyes.” Scratching his throat, he added, “He and two others stayed here. Said they wanted a quiet, private house. Didn’t like the hubbub of hotels. I suggested a rental shop when I noticed they didn’t come with ski gear, but he said they weren’t here to ski and only planned to do some hiking … commune with nature … that kind of stuff.”

“Did you meet the others?” Mandy asked.

“Nein. I gave him the keys when he paid cash for two weeks.”

“Did he give a name?”

“Something strange … think it was a nickname. Tinc, Chinc, maybe Dinc. Goodness, I’m terrible at names and well, he paid almost double my normal rate, so I didn’t ask too many questions.”

“If they paid for fourteen days, why aren’t they here now?” Jason peered around the room as he waited.

“Said something about one of them getting sick and they needed to take him home. Didn’t ask for a refund, and well, more boon for me since I can rent it earlier than expected.”

Mandy hated this was not netting what she hoped. “When did they leave?”

“Day after the avalanche. Left the key under the mat.”

Jason and Mandy shared a glance. The first thing of import. Whoever took Clay wouldn’t want to stick around for long. Trent’s holler from upstairs caused Jason to pivot and take the steps two at a time, while Mandy and Norbert followed at a slower pace.

Trent stared at the blue carpet with a vine design where Cerb lay down and whimpered, rubbing his snout … a clear indication to both him and Brock he caught the kid’s scent.

Jason bolted into the room. “What did you find?”

“Kid was here. Cerb wouldn’t alert unless he found a trace of him.” Brock noted Trent’s thousand-yard stare. “Trent, buddy, do you need to sit?”

“No.” He turned to Jason. “Fucking Twilight Zone.”

“What?”

Trent raked both hands through his long hair and dropped to the bed. “Day of the vigil, when we all broke off after Sonny’s toast, I went to the porch swing.”

“I remember.” Jason sat next to Trent. It was unlike Trent to be anything but focused … always on, but perhaps he needed more rest. His body did go through significant trauma only seven weeks ago.

Glancing at Mandy, not wanting to share in front of her, Trent turned back to Jason. “Need to tell you something … in private.”

Mandy took her cue to leave. “Mr. Foster, would you show me the rest of the place?” She ushered the man out.

Brock started to turn, but stopped when Trent said, “You can stay … you should know too … in case I’m losing my mind.” After shutting the door, Brock waited with Jason for Trent to talk.

“Okay, this might be the drugs talking, but the carpet,” he pointed down, “I saw it before. The kid was lying on it, bound, gagged, and calling out to us to save him … pleading us to find him. Jesus, it felt so real, but I must’ve been dreaming. How could he scream for me to find him with a rag in his mouth?”

“Well, perhaps—” Jason started, but Trent continued.

“Last night, I woke in a cold sweat, my back burning, my arms and legs tingling, and my head throbbing. I dreamt of Clay again. I’m pretty damned sure they hurt him. I think they tasered him in the back after slamming his head into a table when he tried to escape.” Trent stared at Jason. “Am I losing my fucking mind? None of this should be real … but this carpet … this is what I saw, and Cerb scented the kid.”

Brock shrugged. “Don’t believe in God, but Ray might say he had something to do with this. Perhaps you are just attuned to the kid’s suffering. He does turn to you when he’s hurting — sort of like how Cerb and I can communicate without words. Hell, we can almost read each other’s minds on missions … so maybe this isn’t so farfetched.”

Jason nodded and placed a hand on Trent’s back. “Don’t think you're ready for the loony bin. Be it a vision, a hunch, a gut feeling, it led us here, and now, we can talk to the taxi company and check if they picked up someone here yesterday. If one was sick, it is unlikely they would walk to the bus or train.”

A light rap on the door interrupted them, and Mandy poked her head in, her expression telegraphing she located something significant. “You need to see what I found.”

The three men and dog followed her to the hall bathroom where she waved her arm for them to enter.

First in, Jason peered around the clean and neat space, not understanding the importance. “What?”

“Look in the trash can.” Mandy’s face broke into a smile as Jason gaped.

“Shit!”

“Jace?” both Brock and Trent said.

Turning the can so they could view the contents, Jason said, “They cut and dyed his hair.”

Everyone stared at blond locks, the same shade as Clay’s hair, and a box of black hair dye. Trent grinned as Brock patted him on the back. Now they had something to go on. A time they left, and now they would be searching for a raven-haired kid.

* * *

_**Train Bound for Belgrade – Dining Car** _

Taylor Ward picked at his tartiflette, a rustic dish consisting of thinly sliced potatoes, smoky bits of bacon, caramelized onions and oozy, nutty, creamy Reblochon cheese, as his mind kept replaying the scene last night. He had been sitting at the farthest table, but still had a clear view of all parties involved.

As an investigator with Interpol’s Terror division, Taylor’s sense something was off nagged at him. The half-dressed man appeared quite adamant, and the large thugs tasered him when he was no threat to anyone. He was only speaking, disagreeing with the older man.

Closing his eyes after lifting his Earl Grey tea, Taylor tried to recreate the image of the younger man. Short black hair, blue eyes, light-skinned with a slight ruddiness to his cheeks, muscular, various scars … a large one across his ribs, and tattoos. One of which resembled a dog’s head with a trident on his inner bicep. He spoke both English and French fluently.

Focusing his mind’s eyes on the older man. Salt-and-pepper hair, brown eyes, thick brows, darker complexion, dressed richly in a tailored suit, spoke English, French, and something which sounded like a dialect heavily influenced by Arabic and a tad similar to Turkish and Azerbaijani, but not exactly. He wished he had a better grasp of the various languages, but relied on his team of interrupters to do the heavy lifting of translations as he put the pieces of the puzzles together.

He liked nothing better than to sink his teeth into a tough issue – one reason for this trip to Istanbul. He was following up on something for a beautiful, brown-haired CIA agent with whom he enjoyed collaborating with on several occasions. As he analyzed this situation, one thing which didn’t add up to him was the two men looked nothing alike, yet the man claimed to be his father.

Taylor supposed the son could be adopted. But there was something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The young man’s eyes … so blue … so earnest … desperate to be believed. And the tattoos and scars intrigued him. Taylor sipped his tea before lowering his cup.

He covertly shifted his attention to the well-dressed man now consuming his dinner and speaking to the same man he dined with yesterday. They spoke English now, and their conversation on the surface appeared to be trivial and superficial. But oftentimes dialog could be coded to give the illusion of normalcy and mundaneness. Taylor cracked one such code which led to the capture of el-Samad, a mid-level sect leader in the IIB after sharing the details of decoded chatter with the beautiful Ms. Ellis. 

Listening to the accented voice, it hit Taylor. The younger man spoke with a different accent … American if he had to place it, while this man’s accent was altogether different. _How could a son have a totally different inflection?_ He decided to pay attention since he overheard the man’s destination was Istanbul, the same as his. Perhaps if he managed to engage him in casual conversation, he might suss out the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all waiting for physical whump, but the story must unfold ... there will be more ... evil muse promises.


	5. Penalty for Talking

_**Train Almost to Belgrade – Private Sleeper Car** _

Lashes flickered, lifting part way and closing several times before glazed blue orbs became visible. Floaty and tingly, Clay blinked trying to make sense of where he was and why the world seemed to tilt one way then the other. His tongue darted out to lick dry, cracked lips, so thirsty his throat felt like the Taklamakan Desert … an arid wasteland. He managed to croak, “Wa … r”

Tabasi snorted as Dinc rolled Spenser in order to put the shock devices on his other wrist and ankle. The dog-like shock collars he brought would come in handy for subduing his target as they transferred trains. They would be invisible under his clothing, so if Spenser tried anything, he would simply zap him and it would appear like he experienced a seizure.

“When is the last time you gave him anything to drink or eat?” Tarek el-Samad popped a grape in his mouth as he observed Tabasi’s muscle-bound guard manhandle Spenser, dressing him after putting on the tazer-like devices.

“He doesn’t deserve any.” Tabasi sipped his cold tea.

“You do want him to live so you can torture him. It’s been several days … he needs at least a little water.”

Begrudgingly acceding the point, Tabasi rose and took his tea with him. Dinc halted and stepped back when told. Tabasi stared down at Spenser who remained quite woozy. He hadn’t wanted to stop the tranquilizers or muscle relaxers, but this afternoon when they repressed Spenser’s respirations to a dangerous level, he didn’t have a choice. He had other drugs, but he must wait until these worked out of his system before using them or he would end up with the same result … and Spenser didn’t deserve an easy death.

Unable to focus, his head throbbing, still in a foggy netherworld caused by three days with excessive amounts of drugs coupled with no food or water, Clay tried to lift his hand towards the figure. “Wa … ter.”

Tabasi slipped his hand behind Spenser’s head and tilted the cup, letting tea dribble into his mouth. “Behave and I will give you some. You are not allowed to speak or move by yourself. Try anything and you will regret the result.”

Although not processing the words, Clay swallowed greedily as the sweet liquid touched his tongue, and wanted more after the flow stopped. His headache spiked as the tender bump on the back of his head smacked the mattress when dropped. Confused by Trent’s treatment, the medic might be brusque and efficient in his movements, but never unkind or unduly rough. “Mor …Trnt … thrs..t”

“I told you not to speak. I warned you.” Tabasi reached for the controller and depressed the button.

Voltage surged through Clay at four points causing his body to jerk and twist, flopping like a fish out of water. When the tentacles of electricity running along his nerves began to peter out leaving heat traces which stung, Clay moaned in pain. Upon opening his eyes, he finally realized he was not in the care of Trent … his brothers hadn’t rescued him yet … he was still in the clutches of a man he didn’t know. His voice thin and thready, Clay said, “Who are—”

White-hot electricity raced through him again as the man only sneered. This time when the twitching stopped, tremors continued to ripple up and down his limbs, which left him too weak to talk. He realized he shouldn’t have bothered to ask since the man certainly wouldn’t tell him.

Turning to Dinc, Tabasi instructed him to finish dressing Spenser. He went to sit by Tarek. “Works well. I’m going to enjoy using this to control him.”

Tarek laughed. “You are one man I would never cross. I’m glad you are my friend. Spenser will pay for killing your sons and for capturing mine and sending him to Guantanamo. Akcay, Korer, Vedat, and Suwailim will be avenged.”

As the train came to a halt at the Belgrade station, Dinc lifted Spenser into the wheelchair, used the padded cuffs to secure his legs to the footrests, and covered him with a blanket to hide the restraints. The last item put on him was a ball cap with the brim pulled low.

“If you talk, you will experience more pain and people will only think you are having a seizure.” Tabasi showed him the controller. “I will not tolerate disobedience nor hesitate to cause you substantial pain.”

Tarek left before the others and noted many of Tabasi’s men positioned all throughout the train station. Tabasi was a careful man, but vengeance made him behave more recklessly than usual. In the past, he would’ve sent his minions to do his dirty work and stayed safely in Turkmenistan.

Though he understood why since a father’s vengeance was personal. Tarek’s pain stemmed from his only son being captured in Samara after Spenser chased him across rooftops. Those who watched and reported back to him and Tabasi said the soldier stuck out because he was blond. They only learned who he was after Tabasi’s three sons were all killed in Simir when they went to set the trap for the US team wreaking havoc on their organization.

Akcay had his eye pierced by a knife and his throat slit, while Vedat and Korer were shot in the back … all three dying in the open field with several other members of the IIB. Tabasi vowed to seek revenge on the entire team … starting with the blond.

Well, Spenser wasn’t the first to die … Frank Isaksson met his end in prison. If not for the timid turncoat, the IIB wouldn’t be on the radar of all international terror watch groups. The turd-ball sent the photo of Spenser hanging from a hook in Mexico to the SEALs girlfriend which tipped the scales and resulted in his arrest and exposure of IIB. The stupid man paid for his crimes against IIB at the end of a twisted bedsheet.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Tension in the dining room packed with Bravo, Alpha, Sierra, Blackburn, Ellis, and three techies reached an all-time high. It seemed to all they took two steps forward and one step back all day long. Their earlier hope of finding a firm lead on the kid’s whereabouts fizzled with every passing hour. The tower clock in the hallway chiming ten p.m. was the only sound as everyone re-scoured the footage searching for a black-haired man with Clay’s facial features.

Thus far, no one found a single trace. Jason checked his phone for what seemed like the thousandth time, waiting for a text or call from the taxi driver who picked up the fare at the rental home. Unfortunately, Theo Iff, the cabbie, left yesterday evening to visit his family in Toffen, which is located about ten kilometers south of the city of Bern. Iff’s boss assured Jason he would contact his employee and communicate the urgency to call him.

Until they talked with Theo, they couldn’t confirm anything beyond the destination of the ride that Theo logged as the train station which provides rail service between Zermatt and Täsch. From Täsch they could go almost anywhere, and it would be like trying to find a specific snowflake on the Matterhorn without a description of said flake.

Terrance, Sierra Six, tapped his teammate on the shoulder and tilted his chin towards, Trent. Scott nodded in understanding, rose and stretched before taking a direct route to Bravo’s medic. “Hey, time for a hot shower and bed. You want to take the opportunity to rest now, cause Clay’s surely gonna need you in tiptop shape when we find him.”

Trent furrowed his brows. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s Clay … trouble magnet and toothsome, towheaded, truehearted, Tier One hero wrapped into one body. Truthfully, I’ve never known anyone who gets trounced more than him. Damn glad Spenser keeps getting back up. But part of the reason he can is you and the care you provide. So, march your butt up those stairs, take your meds, and go to sleep. Jason will wake you if anything actionable comes in.”

Sonny snickered. Scott could be as hard-assed a medic as Trent, and it was fun to watch Trent being talked to like a truculent kid for once. Usually, it was him or Clay on the receiving end from Sawyer when they didn’t follow his advice. “Past your bedtime, Trent. If you don’t listen to him, I’m sure Scott won’t let you have your milk and cookies tomorrow.”

“Go,” Jason said as Trent turned to him, expecting him to counterman the directive, but he agreed whole-heartedly with Scott. If he hadn’t been so focused on other things, he would’ve sent Trent to rest a few hours ago.

Conceding he wouldn’t be receiving support from anyone, Trent eyed each of his team, assessing their states, and decided one good turn deserved another. “You all need to rack out too.”

Before his men could protest, Eric stated, “Trent’s right. Bravo, Alpha, time for shut-eye. Sierra will continue working, and in a few hours, we will rotate. Jace, hand over your phone. I promise to wake you if Theo makes contact.”

By the tone the lieutenant commander used, every man on all three teams recognized Blackburn would make it an official order if they didn’t comply. Eleven tired men and one dog reluctantly stood and trudged off towards their rooms upstairs.

It would be a tight fit, but they were all now staying at the bed and breakfast. After dinner, Mrs. Mallet happily gathered cots, extra bedding, and pillows from neighbors and friends. And now the former two-person rooms were set up to accommodate four or five. She refused to charge extra for lodging everyone but agreed to reimbursement for the food.

* * *

_**Belgrade, Serbia – Belgrade Train Station Platform** _

Taylor Ward pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses as he took up a position on the platform to observe the man of interest. He failed to find a way to engage him in conversation because he and the other man retired to their private car after eating. He gleaned little from the dialog he overheard at dinner and decided the best thing to do would be to covertly snap photos of them and the supposed son, which his gut leaned heavily to not being the case.

He didn’t know if he was dealing with a personal grievance, a routine kidnapping for ransom, or something more nefarious such as human trafficking. Whatever was going on, he decided to send the photos to Mandy since the younger man sounded American to him. If he had possessed a British accent, Taylor would’ve sent them to his contact in Scotland Yard.

Adjusting his unassuming tweed jacket, Taylor tried to appear to be a tourist taking photos of the new train station. He preferred the old Belgrade station built in the 1880s; it had character, this one which opened in 2018 was clean, utilitarian, and totally devoid of style. When one of his subjects exited the train, Taylor managed to grab a face shot of salt-and-pepper-hair man’s dining partner.

Pretending to take more pictures, a short time later a wheelchair appeared, pushed by a thickset, tall, and muscular man which Taylor wouldn’t want to tangle with. Typically, Taylor rode a desk and left the fieldwork to his team. However, with Ellis’ request to ferret out information in Turkey on a suspected IIB sect, coupled with the others on assignment elsewhere, he had to go himself or put off her entreaty until someone became available. With the inroads the Americans made lately on the IIB, Taylor decided it best not to wait or they might lose the information altogether.

Taylor easily captured the images of the two older men but had difficulty in getting one of the younger man in the wheelchair due to the cap pulled down covering his eyes and the way his head drooped on his chest. He tailed them from a distance and tried to think of a way to cause the man to look up. When they stopped, Taylor halted and leaned against one of the tiled pillars, contemplating several options.

The fogginess clouding Clay’s mind began to dissipate, but the throbbing in his head never ceased, nor did the gnawing emptiness of his stomach which reminded him of his three days of SERE training while in Green Team. He received no food, and the only water he received during those days had been when they waterboarded him. Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape training prepared him to think on his feet, or in this particular case on his ass, while under immense stress.

Evade and escape were off the table as possibilities at the moment. He didn’t possess enough strength to stand, let alone walk or run, even if he could figure out how to get out of the leg restraints. His only options now were to resist and survive. The fact he was alive and his abductor went to the trouble of creating this ruse, meant he wanted him to remain so … at least for the present.

The metal contacts at his wrists and ankles still tingled with a pins-and-needles sensation from the earlier shocks. This man came prepared, but he underestimated him. Though agonizing, Clay determined he could withstand being zapped again. Resist became his best option, and Clay thought about what to say, knowing he would only be able to get out two or three words before they tasered him.

When they halted at the edge of the platform, and there were dozens of people milling around waiting to the train’s arrival, Clay took several breaths, preparing for the onslaught of pain which would be inflicted. With tremendous effort, Clay tilted his head upward and shouted, I’M CLAY SPENSER, HEL—”

Clay’s body seized, jerking as the voltage coursed through him. His torso bucked so violently he pitched forward, out of the chair, and onto the tracks below. With his ankles bound to the footrests, the chair toppled over with him. When he landed, his tibias hit the edge of the rails and the chair’s armrest impacted his kidney, but searing electrical current overshadowed those pains and the ones caused by falling several feet and smacking his head on the concrete.

Bystanders gawked, gasped, and screamed. Tabasi put on a show of concern to cover his anger, barking orders at Dinc, and begging people to save his son before the train arrived and ran over him. When authorities questioned why the invalid was cuffed to the chair, Tabasi explained Akcay suffered paranoid delusions in addition to epilepsy, and they were necessary for everyone’s safety. He used the same well-crafted story, and by the time the train pulled into the station, he convinced them all was under control.

Taylor took the opportunity to snap several photos, capturing a clear face shot as the man shouted his name, and three more as he was on the ground and hauled back up onto the platform and resettled in the wheelchair. He quit when a woman stepped forward claiming to be a nurse and pressed tissues to the cut on the now dazed, and semi-conscious man’s forehead to stop the bleeding.

He listened to the explanation, and although the local authorities believed the man, Taylor didn’t … it felt too contrived and convenient. He determined that once he took his seat, he would transfer the photos to his laptop and send an encrypted message to Ellis. Something was not kosher, but he needed assistance to extract the victim because his thin, wiry frame wouldn’t be effective against the bulky men.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland –** **Bed and Breakfast – Bravo’s Room** _

Bravo ended up in the largest room, which contained a queen-sized bed, a pull-out couch bed for two, and a single cot. It also possessed an in-room bathroom suite. By unspoken tacit agreement, Trent was the first one sent to shower … after Ray made sure he took his meds. The others lounged around in various states of undress as they waited for their turn.

Trent allowed the hot water to cascaded over his aching shoulder, letting the warmth loosen tight muscles. He rubbed his side, where the bullet entered, damned lucky it missed his kidney. If he lost a kidney, he wouldn’t have been allowed to return to operational status and would’ve earned a medical discharge.

He sighed, wishing for a longer shower, or possibly a soak in a tub. Images of Clay after Clayton almost drown the kid in the hydrotherapy bath came to mind. _Wait, nix the bathtub. Scott is right. The kid’s suffered more than his fair share of injuries, and through no fault of his own attracts trouble with a capital T. If Spenser makes it to old age, he will be dealing with chronic pain given the shit he’s been through … as will we all._

The life of SEAL was no cakewalk … something they all accepted. Reaching for the tap, a disturbing image of Clay popped into his head as searing pain encircled his wrists and ankles, causing him to scream as he crumpled and struck his head on the side of the porcelain tub.

Trent’s painful cry caused four men to rush to the bathroom door at the same time. It would’ve been comical watching them crash into one another except for their need to go to a teammate in trouble. Without conscious thought, Sonny and Brock backed off to allow Jason and Ray to enter first. They hovered at the entrance as their leaders went to Trent who lay half-in and half-out of the tub … dazed and moaning.

Ray shut off the faucet and tossed a towel over Trent, to dry him a bit so they could lift him from the tub and lie him on the tile floor. He dropped it over his groin to preserve his modesty once they had him flat. Grabbing a hand towel from the rack next to him, Jason pressed it to Trent’s forehead to stem the bleeding from a tiny gash.

“Should I go grab Scott?” Brock asked.

Coming around in time to overhear Brock, Trent winced as he said, “No. Give me a minute. I’m okay.”

“Like hell, you are. When has it ever been okay to fall out of a shower? Unless you're hungover … which you ain’t.” Sonny drawled, concern filling his eyes.

“What happened?” Jason lifted the towel to check if the bleeding stopped and pressed it again when a little oozed out.

Trent met Jason’s gaze, unsure if his team lead would require him to take a psych eval once he told him. “Don’t have a fucking clue what is going on, but I’m damned sure they hurt Clay again. White-hot pain.” Trent clenched his fists. “Burning pain shot through him, and then he fell.”

Ray’s brows arched. Jason shared the carpet story with him and Sonny, and they all at times had gut feelings … but this was something more. He wondered if God created a connection between Trent and Clay to help them locate the kid. “Did you see anything which might be useful in our search?”

His gaze shifted to Ray, as Trent said, “You believe me?”

“Yeah. I do. God works in mysterious ways, brother.”

“Well, I for one would like it if he didn’t cause Trent more pain and just came out and told us exactly where the kid is and who took him and why. I don’t like puzzle games.” Sonny moved forward. “Let’s get you up and into bed.”

With assistance, Trent moved to the covered toilet seat to sit while he dried off completely. On his assurance he was not dizzy, the guys left him to dress on his own. Once Trent re-entered the bedroom, Ray went to shower next, as Jason rechecked the cut on Trent’s head and applied a small bandage. His head throbbing, Trent closed his eyes and tried like hell to remember any detail which might find his brother.

Over the next thirty minutes, they all washed up and were settled in their beds. The last to bathe, Jason switched off the lamp on the bedside table and blew out a breath as he lay down. Too keyed up to sleep, he stared upwards as tendrils of moonlight mixed with swaying trees outside creating ever-changing patterns on the walls and ceiling. He didn’t like puzzles either, especially when it involved the lives of his brothers. After another ten minutes, he shut his eyes and started to drift, but a knock on their door, followed by its opening and light from the hall spilling in, brought Jason upright in bed.

Eric noted everyone except Jason lying down. He kept his voice soft as he said, “Theo Iff is on the line.” Four other heads all popped up and Cerb turned to peer at him too, so his belief they had been asleep had been wrong. He strode over to Jason and handed him the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil muse found a way to whump Clay while in public ... and continue to whump Trent a little bit too.


	6. Technology Fails, Theories, TTM, and New Tactic

_**Train Bound for Sofia** _

Taylor flagged down the English-speaking steward in his car, his frustration growing in the last twenty-five minutes. “Excuse me, I’m unable to connect to the wireless network. I’ve used the password given when I paid for the service.”

“We are having trouble, and it is down.”

“When will it be up?”

“I’m sorry, but it won’t be on this leg of the journey. When we arrive in Sofia, a technician will board to fix whatever is wrong. We will refund your fee or apply it to the next part of your journey if you would like. Is there anything else you need?”

Taylor shook his head, and the steward continued down the aisle. He stared at his email and wished he could send it now, hoping to give Ms. Ellis time to research the men before they reached Istanbul tomorrow night. He contemplated sending them via phone, but the unsecure nature of them always made him uncomfortable.

In his line of work, he took rigorous precautions because the sensitivity of most of his communiques could result in death if intercepted. Taylor leaned back and sighed. Although he couldn’t send his message for another ten hours, at least he had one. If he had flown to Istanbul instead of taking the train, that poor young man wouldn’t stand a chance of being rescued.

A smile formed. _If all goes well, no one will tease me about my fear of flying anymore._ Taylor had taken his fair share of razzing because he refused to travel via plane … another reason he preferred his desk job over fieldwork. The time-sensitive nature of his work typically required a fast turn-around, so they didn’t have the luxury of train travel to their destinations.

After closing his laptop and securing it in his case, Taylor reclined his seat to grab some sleep. Clay Spenser wouldn’t be going anywhere for now, and neither would his potential abductors. When they reached Sofia, and if the internet was still down, he would figure out another solution … perhaps buying a burner phone to send the details to the beautiful Mandy.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Bed, and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Jason paced as Theo Iff spoke to Vance Thomason, one Mandy’s techies who previously worked for the Tucson, Arizona police department as a sketch artist. In his short conversation with Theo, the taxi driver confirmed he picked up three men from the rental house and dropped them at the train station.

One thickset and scarily muscular guy … Theo’s words, not his. The second was older, well-dressed, and the only one who spoke to him. Theo described the first two as possessing notably large statures, oblong-shaped heads, narrow faces, rather high foreheads, black hair, brown eyes, and relatively dark complexions. He also said the older man had a lot of white in his hair.

The third, by the picture now emerging, could be none other than Clay, except short black hair, clean-shaven, and no eye color. The kid being drugged troubled Jason the most. Theo related the tale told to him to explain why Clay was sedated. Whoever abducted him had gone to great lengths to plan … a tactician who apparently had resources.

Jason glanced over at Mandy, who had not ceased working since her arrival. She tirelessly worked her network and contacts, shifting her primary focus from locating the IIB leadership to finding one of their own … a priority she told him. Now in her hands was a drawing of the salt-and-pepper man. Hopefully, they would have a name to put with him, and once they did, it would be easier to determine why Clay was targeted, and where he took him.

One of the first theories Mandy followed was this might be retribution for putting Spencer Clayton in jail. It seemed somewhat plausible since Clayton knew they were in Spain, but he couldn’t have known they went to Switzerland on a short holiday. Mandy and her contacts validated that Clayton and his family didn’t possess the funds to enact something on this scale.

The next theory she investigated was any connection to Ash Spenser. Although Clay’s father was dead and buried, the man’s suicide in prison always seemed a little convenient and not something the arrogant Ashhole would do. But that trail fizzled out too.

Having been a SEAL for years, the kid had done many tours before joining Bravo, and completed a slew of missions with Bravo, so the field of possible culprits was vast. And there was always the niggling thought of Tibet and the fact the kid could’ve been the victim of human traffickers who preyed on tourists who fit the bill of some sick son of a bitch who would pay to own someone.

The last seemed most conceivable to Jason because their identities were well protected. It was one reason they couldn’t alert the news agencies and plaster the kid’s picture on the local newscasts. Everything they did had to be more covert, and in the shadows, so they could limit Clay’s exposure and not compromise their anonymity.

“Jace?”

Stopping his pacing, Jason turned to Ray, the only other Bravo team member up. He made Sonny and Brock stay with Trent since they were all running on empty and needed rest. “Yeah?”

Ray rubbed the back of his neck. “Been thinking.”

“Always good.” Jason grabbed a refill for his coffee and sat across from his best friend. “Talk to me.”

“Well, as we talked about before, this is too well-orchestrated to be random, but I started thinking about Mexico … and how Doza put a hit out on Clay. We’ve been hitting the IIB hard, and they set a trap for us in Simir. They had the kid strung up long enough to grab photos of him.”

Jason nodded. “Thought about that too. They might’ve tracked us back to Spain, wouldn’t be too difficult to bribe a few authorities to find out what plane we were on … especially since we weren’t as covert as we should’ve been.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. They could’ve sent people to try and locate us, or …”

“Or what?” Jason noted the intense expression, which meant the wheels were turning in Ray’s mind.

“IIB’s fundamental doctrine was more insidious and less visible. They focused on embedding people in positions of power to subvert from within instead of blowing things up. What if there is someone with knowledge of our whereabouts who provided the details.”

Mandy turned to peer at Bravo Two. “One of the theories I’m exploring. Sensitive and difficult to ferret out if that is the case, but this might be a blessing in disguise. Not that I want Clay taken, but it might uncover a traitor. I’ve sent the sketches of the first two men to my most trusted contacts. With any luck, we will get a name, and from there a potential location.” Mandy blew out a breath.

As Mandy started to turn back to her computer, Jason said, “You need to take a break. You’ve been at this for over twenty-four hours.”

“I can’t. I need to find him.” Mandy reached for her coffee, needing more caffeine.

Jason snatched the cup from her. “Sleep. You sent out the pictures, and I doubt anyone will get back to you for several hours. You need a clear head, and that comes with some rest.”

“You’re not in bed, and Blackburn basically ordered you.”

Ray chuckled. “He also promised to wake Jason when Theo called. I suggest we all hit the racks. We won’t be any good to the kid if we’re too tired to think properly.” He stood. “Jace, you coming?”

Rising, Jason carefully yet firmly gripped Mandy’s arm, pulling her to her feet. “Yep, we are.”

Lester held in his snicker as Master Chief Hayes led his blustering boss out of the room. Ms. Ellis was a force to be reckoned with, and only Jason Hayes possessed the ability to make her do something she didn’t want to do … by force or coercion.

Based on his earlier discussion with Mandy, he delved into the darknet again, searching the IIB site he found in Mexico … the one which posted the photo of Clay hanging from the hook. He hoped to find something which might connect Spenser’s disappearance with the IIB.

* * *

_**Train Bound for Sofia – Private Sleeper Car** _

In utter misery, Clay lay as still as possible as the train sped onward. He tried to sleep last night to escape his pain, but his guard snored like, well, like a friggin freight train, and kept waking him. And when the sun rose what felt like an eternity ago, the light shining directly on his face caused thundering in his head. If he dared to open his lids, thumbtacks stabbed his eyes, sending shards of pain to the back of his skull.

Ever since his two-story plummet off the roof in Mexico, he occasionally suffered headaches, which made him want to curl up and die. Trent called them TTMs, or trauma-triggered migraines and gave him medication which knocked him out for several hours, and when he awoke, the symptoms usually disappeared. Smacking his head on the concrete in his attempt to alert people to his situation, constituted trauma in his book.

Clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth, Clay fought the need to throw up. It wouldn’t be much, maybe a bit of watery bile, but the dry heaving would suck. Every muscle in his body ached from being tasered and his fall. His lower legs seemed swollen where they struck the train tracks. He had no idea if he fractured his tibias, because one, he didn’t dare lift his lashes or head to peer at them since light and movement tormented him, and two, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it if they were.

He hated the fact he was now in boxers only, not sure why the man kept undressing him. Licking his dry, cracked lips, with an equally parched tongue, Clay wished for more water. After strapping him to the bed last night, they only gave him a few sips, not near enough to slake his thirst, scarcely enough to wet his throat. Although afraid of taking morphine for fear of becoming addicted after his stint in Tibet, he also wished Trent was here to give him something to take away his pain … even morphine if that was all he had.

Trying to focus on something other than his all-consuming agony, he conjured up the faces of his brothers. Doubt tried to creep in, but he refused to let it take hold. Jason, Ray, Sonny, Trent, Brock, and Cerb would not rest until they found him. Well, maybe a little, because quite frankly it had been multiple days, though Clay had lost track of how many.

The snick of the door opening told Clay someone entered the little room. This one different than the last where it only had two twin beds with a small space between them. He heard something being set down but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and experience the torture that came with sunlight.

From further away, his abductor spoke in a language he didn’t understand, and a hot wet towel dropped on his face and was roughly moved around. The big dude rubbed hard where his forehead split open, causing it to sting … one more thing to add to his list of suckiness.

When a large hand gripped his jaw and turned his head, Clay tried to pull out of the painful grasp until the man spoke again, but in English. “Hold still if you don’t want Dinc to slit your throat while shaving you.”

Clay now had a name for the huge guy, Dinc, but couldn’t figure out why they would be shaving him as he felt a straight razor start to tug across his unlubricated skin. The burning sensation of a dry shave got tagged onto his growing list, but he held still, mostly because the little movement amped up his nausea and the throbbing in his skull as his brain tried to escape through his ears and his stomach through his throat.

The voice came closer and said, “We will be switching trains again soon. Do not attempt the same stunt, or I will turn the voltage up to ten. Six is quite painful, but ten will be excruciating.”

Clay didn’t respond in any manner. Hell, yeah, he would repeat his stunt knowing full well the price he would pay. He needed to do something, even as small as yelling his name in a crowd because that might be the crumb his brothers needed to pick up his trail. Mr. Taser-man didn’t have a fucking clue what he already endured and how much he would withstand if it gave him the slightest possibility of thwarting this asshole’s plans for him.

When the shaving finished, Clay recalled his hair had been dyed black and realized why they groomed him. His blond, two-day stubble wouldn’t match the darker hair. A hand slipped behind his head, touching the tender bump, and he held back a moan, just barely.

“Open … tea.” Tabasi tilted the cup containing sweet tea and poured it in fast, causing Spenser to gag and choke as he tried to swallow. He looked forward to waterboarding him once he had him in Turkmenistan. Watching the murderer of his son gasp for air would be some recompense for Akcay’s last moments when his eldest son bled out after Spenser slit his throat. Part of him wanted to take the razor and inflict multiple slices, but for the ruse to work, Spenser had to remain presentable.

As Clay drew in a breath once the flow of liquid stopped, he felt Dinc unbuckle the restraints on his ankles and wrists. Clay lost his control over his twirling stomach as his leg was lifted and pain shot up and down from his shin. He spewed what he just consumed as his abdomen muscles clenched.

Though he had not intended to target Taser-man, the language gushing from him needed no translation … anyone would cuss a blue streak if someone puked on them. The punch to his gut only exacerbated his need to vomit, and he dry heaved for several minutes.

Believing he couldn’t experience a pain level above ten, he was proven wrong when Dinc grabbed his other leg right where it smacked the rails. A scream, which might’ve come from him, sounded far away as a tornado spun Clay into blessed oblivion.

* * *

_**Sofia, Bulgaria – Train Station** _

Taylor hurried back across the street, dodging traffic in his haste to return to the train station. The layover between trains gave him enough time to go to the shop a few blocks away and purchase two burner phones with cash. He required a backup plan if the internet was down on the next leg.

So, he ditched his initial tactic to talk with the older man and hatched a new one which prompted his recent purchase. Stopping in the men’s toilets, he entered the stall and proceeded to unbox both phones. He wrote down the phone number of one and activated it. After switching the language to English, he went into settings and put it on silent mode and made a few other changes before slipping it into his left trouser pocket. After activating the second one, he put it in his right pocket next to his personal phone.

Exiting the restroom, he tossed the bag with the packaging materials in the trash and made his way back to the platform. If his strategy to slip one phone to the man who claimed to be Clay Spenser and contact Mandy with the other was going to work, he needed a way to do it without arousing suspicion. As he roamed the area where passengers mingled waiting for the Istanbul-bound train to arrive, Taylor spied Clay and shoved his hands into his pants pockets to wipe off his sweaty palms.

Cloak and dagger was not his forte. Give him a computer, a puzzle to solve, or a person of interest to dig into their background, their finances, or track their movements, he was your man. Taylor’s heart developed a tachycardia rhythm, beating well over a hundred times a minute, making him a bit lightheaded, so he leaned against a pillar to assess his options. As his pulse slowly decreased, an idea came to him, and he smiled. _That will do the trick._

Palming the tiny cell phone, he withdrew the one from the left pocket. As Taylor approached Clay, trying to make it appear he was simply walking towards a bench next to the wheelchair, he didn’t have to fake his rapid heart rate. He kept his eyes away from his true destination, noting the tough-looking man standing behind Clay. The guard’s attention was on three well-endowed teens in skimpy attire, and the salt-and-pepper-haired man appeared to be engrossed in a conversation with the man who dined with him two nights ago.

 _Now or never._ Taylor gripped at his heart with his right hand as he pitched himself forward with a loud moan. Landing on Clay, with his left-hand hidden underneath his body, Taylor realized he would have to thank his brother, a magician, for teaching him sleight of hand. Taylor slipped the phone into Clay’s suit pocket before allowing himself to fall to the ground as he moaned, “Water … need my meds.”

Tabasi only stared as several people rushed to help the scrawny man. His gaze turned to Spenser, noting he appeared to be still unconscious. Dinc’s rough handling, which Tabasi didn’t care about, apparently caused Spenser to blackout and he hadn’t regained his senses. Not wanting to be in the thick of the turmoil, he told Dinc to bring his son and give the ill man space. He stopped a fair distance away and pulled out his cell phone. _Time to make sure my private plane is fueled and ready for when we arrive in about ten hours._

Taylor popped two aspirins, before thanking the people who assisted him up onto the bench and provided him water. Adjusting his glasses, which had been knocked askew, he assured them he’d be alright, only needed to sit quietly until the train arrived. Once alone, he retrieved the second burner phone in his right pocket, typed a short cryptic text, and sent it to Ellis.

Debating whether to snap a picture and send it, Taylor decided against doing so and switched off the mobile phone. Mandy would now be aware he had more info to share and would be sending an encrypted file soon.

As the train arrived and people became more interested in boarding, Taylor withdrew his hanky and wiped his prints off before slamming the screen on the concrete bench, destroying the device so it couldn’t be traced to him. On his way to his coach seat, he ditched the pieces in a trash barrel and let out a heavy sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would've been posted sooner, but my internet went down today and then my computer took almost three hours to update. But ... I can say, that inspired Taylor's problem.


	7. Turkish Delight, Trip’s Text, and Hot On His Trail

_**Train Bound for Istanbul, Turkey** _

People talking around him was the first thing to filter through Clay’s hazy mind. Second, he realized he was sitting upright in the wheelchair instead of laying on a bed. The tight strap across his torso, holding him in place, confused him for only a moment but realized Taser-man would surely play it off as a measure to ensure his safety after what occurred earlier.

The throbbing in his skull lessened, only slightly, but the pain seemed to have migrated to his legs. Every beat of his heart brought a pulse of pain to his left shin. His neck ached from the weight of his head hanging down and forward on his chest. In dire need of water, his thirst beyond anything he ever experienced, Clay considered opening his eyes to scan his area before taking any action.

Little by little, he cracked open his lids, letting in sunlight. Thankfully, thumbtacks and daggers didn’t attack him and make him wish he could die. He managed to lift his eyelids about halfway, and noted he sat at a table … well, more or less, since his wheelchair had been pushed close to one. Across from him sat Taser-man with his attention on the open laptop in front of him. To his right was a window and to the left, Dinc, chowing down on food.

Although starving, the aroma kicked up his nausea. People sat at other tables, chatting and ignoring the three at his table. Apparently, Taser-man must’ve told a tale again to explain why he was strapped to a chair. Clay figured if he was here with them, this portion of the journey didn’t afford a private car.

He eyed the glass of water and the plate in front of him, both full. So he supposed the man was still claiming him to be his ill son. Feeling the telltale metal rods pushing at his wrists and ankles told him he would be tasered again if he spoke. Clay had to think … reviewing his SERE training.

Survive became more critical than resist. His level of dehydration was reaching a dangerous point, and Clay needed to find a way to get water. Talking was out of the question so he couldn’t ask, but as he tried to move his right hand, he found neither arm to be bound to the chair under the blanket covering his lap and hands.

With painfully slow movement, he began to reach for the glass of precious water. His palm made contact before either of the two men noticed, and he caught their glare. He remained stock-still, unsure if he would be zapped. Whatever may have happened, likely changed as a slim man with wire-rim glasses bumped into their table garnering the glares of his abductors. Clay took advantage of their momentary distraction and brought the water to his lips, greedily drinking as fast as he could swallow.

Taylor kept an eye on Clay ever since he found him in the dining car. When he noticed the man’s eyes open, and him going for water, he decided to intercede and see if he could engage him in conversation, especially since he had not received a reply in the past five hours from Mandy. He hoped she received both his text and email, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Pardon me. I’m so sorry. I’m still a little lightheaded. Please, if you would allow me, I would like to pay for your meal … the least I can do for falling on the young man at the station.” Taylor shifted his gaze to Clay. “I hope I didn’t harm you.”

Clay had no clue what the man was talking about. He met Taser-man’s gaze, worried if he answered he would be plunged into agony again. His need to speak ended as the salt-and-peppered haired man responded.

“My son is fine. No harm was done, and no need to pay for our meal.” Playacting, Tabasi plastered a fake smile as he continued to peer at Spenser. “Good to see you woke from your nap. I hope you like what I ordered for you.”

Clay decided to play along since getting nourishment would help him survive. If he didn’t eat when the opportunity presented itself, he might not be alive when Bravo came for him. He nodded, and set the empty glass on the table, wanting more, but unable to ask without punishment. Help came from an unexpected source again as the thin man smiled at him.

“Looks like you are thirsty.” Taylor waved to a server. “Please bring a water pitcher to the table … this young man requires a refill.” Returning his gaze to the older man, Taylor wondered again what was afoot and if perhaps he called this wrong since the younger man remained silent and the older seemed solicitous to his needs.

Pretending to become woozy again, Taylor sagged towards the empty chair. “Do you mind?” He sat before waiting for an answer. “My heart tends to race lately. My doctors don’t give me much more time, and I’m trying to check off as much as I can from my bucket list before, well, … so I’m on my way to Istanbul. I’m a history buff and always wanted to visit Topkapi Palace, the original palace of the Ottoman rulers.

“Oh, and the obelisk of Theodosius which was originally erected in the old hippodrome of Constantinople during the 18th dynasty by Pharaoh Thutmose III.” Taylor chattered on about nothing as Clay consumed another full cup of water and tasted the tandoor kebab on his plate. Taylor earlier enjoyed the same meal of lamb pieces served with bread and raw onions. By the way Clay ate, Taylor recognized he was hungry but wary, so Taylor kept his attention on the older man.

Tabasi finally interrupted when the unwelcome intruder paused, “We shouldn’t keep you.”

Taylor smiled and went full-tilt into his crafted, clichéd, touristy persona intending to remain for as long as possible. “Oh, I have nothing else to do. Traveling by myself is a little boring. I love meeting locals. Do you live in Istanbul?”

“No.”

“Oh, your accent, well, it sounded like you might be from Turkey.” Taylor hailed the waiter, and when she approached, he asked, “Do you have any more of that fabulous Turkish Delight and Baklava, the filo pastry is to die for? If so, please bring enough for four and some of that terrific sweet tea.”

After getting a grin and nod from the server, Taylor turned back to the others and continued his trifling monolog. He noted a few furtive glances from Clay and had trouble holding back his smile as Clay finished a third glass of water and wiped up the last bit of sauce with his bread.

When the desserts arrived, Clay took a chance and reached for the treats. By now, he figured as long as he remained silent, Taser-man would allow him to eat and drink. The tawny-haired visitor, a godsend if there ever was one, poured tea for him and the others. His stomach no longer cried for sustenance, fully sated, and the extra calories from the Turkish delight, which was basically sugar, and the Turkish baklava made with sugar syrup, pistachios, and lemon juice would sustain him for several more days.

His patience coming to an end, Tabasi said, “Thank you for the treats, but if you will excuse us now, we need to return to our seats.” He stood and gave Dinc instructions to communicate with Ulker to have him watch the talkative tourist and report back to him if anything seemed out of the ordinary. He rounded the table and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair as he leaned down and whispered so only Spenser could hear, “Hope you enjoyed your last meal. By tomorrow you will be begging me to kill you.”

Clay put his hands in his lap, and as he did so, he brushed up against something in his pocket. He kept his face neutral and would wait for a chance to investigate without Taser-man observing. Hope soared as he considered what the tourist did for him. He began to wonder if the pain he experienced by calling out his name had brought much-needed help his way in the form of an unknown British tourist.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland – Bed and Breakfast – Dining Room** _

Refreshed from nearly twelve hours of sleep, which she desperately needed, Mandy entered the dining room ready to get back to work. Part of her felt a tad guilty for sleeping so long, but she trusted her techs to continue the efforts to find Clay. And Jason was right … her brain was now crystal clear rather than thick as mud.

Since it was well past noon, pushing closer to two o’clock, Mandy snagged three tiramisu truffles and a tart-apple turnover drizzled with icing. Mrs. Mallet spoiled them with tasty treats, and Mandy knew she would have to work off all the extra pounds she likely gained while grazing on the ever-present delights.

She nodded to Eric, who appeared to have finally caught forty-winks himself. “Where’s Bravo?”

“Sent them out back to work off their tension. Waiting isn’t their strong point, especially when the kid is involved.” Eric rose and went to refresh his coffee and grab a couple more of the truffles.

Taking her seat, Mandy noticed her phone, and couldn’t believe she left it down here. She pressed the button to activate it and found it dead. Grumbling, ticked at herself for both leaving and not charging it, she plugged her cell into the cable attached to her laptop. She popped a tiny truffle into her mouth and chewed as she booted up her computer.

While she waited, Mandy peered over at her guys. “Anything to report?”

Dejected his search turned up nothing, Lester shook his head. “The darknet was a bust. No mention of Clay, or Bravo team, or any hint they might be involved. Whoever is leading them now, is taking more precautions than the previous leaders.”

Ten minutes later, after finishing her turnover, Mandy picked up her now partially-charged phone to check for missed calls and texts. A few contacts sent messages, sadly not finding anything useful on the sketches she sent out. She noted one from an unknown number and opened it to read.

**Found a potentially lost puppy on my way to Istanbul and need your help to find his owners. Check email. Will await your directive. Thanks in advance, Trip.**

Mandy recognized the sender. Trip is how Taylor Ward III, a trusted friend, and contact in Interpol always signed his messages to distinguish himself from his father and grandfather who were both Taylor Ward too. With all three still living, it avoided confusion at Ward family gatherings … one was called Senior, the other Junior, and then there was Trip.

She had requested he go to Istanbul to follow up on a potential connection to IIB. There was a plane which arrived in Niger the day before the trap set for Bravo, and it left the day after. Her source in Niger indicated three dead bodies were loaded on and escorted by one person but couldn't give her the destination. All remote attempts to find out who owned the plane and where it went netted nothing, so Taylor was the first person she thought of who might be able to help when the same plane ended up in Turkey a few weeks later.

Her eyes scanned the text again, and her heart beat a little faster as she reread ‘lost puppy’ and realized she had not sent the sketch to him or told him about Clay missing. _Jesus, my mind was muddled last night … I should’ve contacted him._

Turning to her laptop, she pulled up her email and located an encrypted one from Taylor with several attachments. She was lifting her coffee as the first image displayed with a man in a wheelchair with a caption that said, ‘Claims to be Clay Spenser’ followed by two more, showing Clay on train tracks and then back in the wheelchair with blood running down his face.

“HOLY MOTHER THERSA!” Mandy yelled as her coffee cup slipped from her hand and spilled on her lap. The shock of Clay’s photos along with the burning liquid sent Mandy tumbling out of her chair and onto the floor.

Eric rushed to help her, wondering what happened but his eyes caught the photos and he stilled for a fraction of a section as his brain comprehended. “JASON, FOUND SPENSER!” he bellowed as he pivoted and ran for the back porch.

* * *

_**Train Almost to Zürich, Switzerland** _

For the last three hours, Sonny did his best to tone down his bull in a china shop attitude brought about by the fact they would be arriving in Zürich at the same time the kid would be pulling into the train station in Istanbul. At times like these, he wished for the transporter from Star Trek. First, he would beam his little brother to a hospital and send Trent there too. Then he would beam himself and the others to go after Hamid Tabasi, Tarek el-Samad, and the rest of the IIB bastards.

Right after reviewing the email from Taylor Ward, who Sonny would’ve probably kissed and hugged if he were in Zermatt with them, more details began falling into place. It was as if a dam broke and they were inundated with information. But for Sonny, the only data which meant anything to him was Clay’s location.

His team leader recognized his tension, and as such tasked him with monitoring the blip from the GPS program tracking the cell phone Taylor slipped to Clay. It was the only tangible link to their brother, and Sonny wished his white-knuckled hold on the laptop was actually gripping Toto. The kid didn’t have any ruby slippers to come home, but they sure as hell now possessed a yellow brick road to follow to bring him back.

Trent reached for his backpack for the tenth time in the last three hours. His mind kept reviewing the things Taylor related about Clay. He had been tasered in the back. His eyes appeared glassy … so probably drugged to the gills. Clay had wolfed down food and water when Taylor managed to intercede in the dining car, and the kid’s lips were dry, indicating dehydration, so likely not fed much since being taken.

Clay suffered what on the surface appeared to be a seizure and fell off a platform to the concrete below. The head wound seemed minor, but with as many times as Clay struck his head or received concussions, Trent worried about the cumulative effects of traumatic brain injury. At the very least, the kid would be experiencing a TTM.

“Trent, you don’t need to check again. You have everything you requested.” Scott shifted in his seat, assessing Bravo’s medic with keen eyes. On the one hand, he didn’t like that Trent came since he was not cleared for active duty, but on the other, he was damned glad to have him aboard because Clay would trust Trent the most to tend to any injuries.

“I want to see if I got the migraine meds.”

Scott stopped Trent’s hand. “Yes, you did. And the non-opioid painkillers, and everything else you deemed necessary before we left … and I added a few more items.” Scott chose to use a little humor to help distract Trent as he said, “The only thing we are missing is a portable Dr. Irving.”

Trent sucked in a breath. “Shit. What are hospitals in Turkey like?”

Scott groaned as his tease utterly backfired, and he gave Trent something else to worry about. He started to reassure him but stopped when Ray interceded.

“Doesn’t matter, brother. We’ll be taking him with us. Taylor’s last communication with Mandy indicated Spenser is awake and alert. Plus he was well enough to eat, so I doubt much will change before we arrive.”

Jason paced at the rear of the car as he listened to Ray calming Trent. Their tactics were limited, especially since they were not authorized to operate hot in Turkey. The blur of activity after Mandy received Taylor’s email, and then subsequent data rolled in, made Jason glad everyone was well-rested.

They discussed travel options, which weren’t great, and determined to have Blackburn go with Alpha, the techs, and half of Sierra back to Rota, load their gear and take the team’s plane to Incirlik Air Base in southern Turkey. From there, Eric would man HAVOC and direct resources where needed and work to greenlight their rescue mission. Bravo, Mandy, and three of Sierra, Rob, Terrance, and Scott were taking the train to Zürich where they would catch a direct commercial flight to Istanbul.

Both routes would require ten to eleven hours of travel, by which time, Clay would’ve been in Istanbul for nine to ten hours or on his way to another destination. Jason hoped the cell tracker remained with the kid, or they might be following a false trail. And from what they gleaned about the salt-and-peppered haired man, Jason wouldn’t put it past Tabasi to do something of the sort.

Jason turned his gaze to Mandy, who refused to take the time to change out of her coffee-stained clothing as she gave her full attention to pulling together details from many sources. The tsunami of info flooding in after viewing Taylor’s photos began to click for their CIA agent, but their big break came in the form one the sweet lady, Mrs. Mallet.

When she brought in fresh coffee and tea, she happened to spy the photo Taylor took of Tabasi. She recalled him staying a single night and provided them his name … Hamid Tabasi. At Mandy’s direction, Lester turned his attention to finding out everything he could on the man and learned he was the chairman of a government-owned gas and oil company in Turkmenistan.

The fact Tabasi was conversing with the father of Suwailim el-Samad allowed them to theorize a connection between Tarek el-Samad, Tabasi, and the IIB, which were confirmed via other sources. As theories go, Mandy was now working on connecting dots, believing Tabasi might be one of the top members of IIB, if not the actual leader.

Though, some things still eluded them. _Why was Clay taken? Why the elaborate ruse? What do they want with him? Is the IIB trying to lure us into another trap? Do we have a traitor in the chain of command?_

Jason’s thoughts were interrupted when Cerberus nudged his leg. He peered down then crouched and rubbed his belly. “We’re gonna get our boy back. I might let you have a taste of Tabasi.”

“Woof.” _Yes. I’m ready to bite his arm off or sink my teeth in his throat if Brock lets me._

Brock joined Jason and Cerb and leaned on the wall. “Do you think Tabasi is planning on taking Clay to Turkmenistan?”

“Seems most likely.”

“Then the chase is on.”

“Yep.” They dropped into silent thoughts again, each wishing, just like the others that they could already be in Istanbul and snatch Clay when he exited the train. Though hot on his trail, they were so close, yet still so far from their brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close yet so far ... the team is anxious.


	8. Unwavering Trust

_**Turkmenistan – Tabasi’s Compound** _

Unable to bear weight on his left leg, Clay assumed his tibia must be fractured, but the swelling on both lower legs hurt like hell. His emotions were in turmoil, fluctuating from high and low, positive and negative as he tried to send his mind to a safe place. The beach with Brian would be preferable, but he kept getting pulled out of it.

Taser-man had not lied … the man seemed to draw immense pleasure in torturing him. Thus far since arriving in Turkmenistan, having gleaned the destination when Taser-man’s comrade let the end-point slip as they boarded a private plane, Clay's life had been nothing but misery. Dinc and another burly man started by undressing him again, tying his hands together with thick twine and threading a chain under the rope before hoisting him up so his toes scarcely touched … not that he could hold his weight.

Once secured, they started in with an old-fashioned thrashing. The punches mostly landed on his soft zones, but the repeated blows in the same places hurt like hell, especially when they targeted his flanks near his kidneys. One drawback to being able to drink water is that he peed himself and had to deal with the taunts from both Taser-man and the other man.

Clay lost track of time, drifting in and out between rounds of beatings, waterboarding, and being tasered. For the most part, he was able not to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he was in by gritting his teeth and swallowing scream after scream. Though, he couldn’t stop all of them when a particularly hard strike to his gut caused him to throw up what remained in his stomach, coating Dinc in vomit. The involuntary reaction earned him a deliberate kick to his left shin, and as he shrieked, his world dissolved in a thunderstorm of pain.

Waking sometime later, Clay still hung from the rafters while his torturers sat at a table eating. His shoulder muscles ached as did his entire body. At a low point, wishing he were dead already, unsure if he could take any more torture, Clay croaked out, “Why? Just tell me why?”

Tabasi stood and strolled over as he finished his tangerine. “You want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“I will tell you.” Tabasi motioned to Dinc, who brought forth a sword. “Do you recognize this?”

Clay stared at the scimitar for a few moments then turned his gaze back to the man. “No.”

“You should.” Tabasi laid the blade across Spenser’s throat wanting nothing more than to slash his jugular.

Tensing, believing this was the end, Clay wished he kept his mouth shut. Time appeared to have run out, and his brothers would be thoroughly ticked at him that he didn’t keep quiet longer and caused his death before they could reach him. He wasn’t sure who put the phone in his pocket, but he would bet it was the tourist … who might be more than only a good samaritan. But now he would never have a chance to use it to call Jason and tell his team he was in Turkmenistan.

“You killed my sons … all three. You shot two in the back and slit the throat of my eldest after throwing your knife and stabbing him in the eye. Vengeance will be mine. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Though, in truth, you owe me three lives.

“Therefore, you will suffer for years.” Tabasi drew the sharpened blade across Spenser’s throat, putting only enough pressure to produce a shallow cut from one side to the other.

As blood trickled down his neck and torso, Clay tried to place the three he supposedly killed, and the only memory of knifing someone in the eye was the mission in Simir … the scimitar-wielding tango he took out as he tried to exfil from the trap.

Tarek chewed his last fig and rose as he said, “My son is in prison because of you.”

Spenser Clayton came to mind, but he didn’t think this man resembled the coward. Curious and unable to stop himself, Clay asked, “What is your son’s name?”

“Suwailim el-Samad.”

Clay’s eyes widened. _How the hell does he know I’m the one who caught el-Samad on the roof?_ His mind rolled with possibilities, and he landed on two facts. These men were with IIB, and there must be a traitor who told them who he was.

The last made his stomach turn, but the jolting electricity coursing through his body ceased all further thoughts. Awash in total agony Clay let go to the conscious world and slipped down the rabbit hole once more.

* * *

_**Bravo Plane** _

Jocked up and raring to get their kid, Jason, Ray, Sonny, Brock, Cerb, Scott, and all of Alpha team pre-breathed oxygen, preparing for their HAHO jump into Turkmenistan. Taylor tried to buy them time by brokering a deal … well, more like trying to bribe an air traffic controller to delay Tabasi from getting flight clearance. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, and it didn’t work, they still arrived too late in Istanbul to stop Tabasi’s plane from taking off.

So, they boarded a commercial flight to Incirlik Airbase to meet up with the others. They continued to track the phone, and when it stopped in a small village in the southeastern part of Turkmenistan, about five miles from the border with Afghanistan, they flew to Bagram Airfield near Kabul and received the green light for the rescue mission from Admiral Droit.

Trent had been tetchy after learning he was not allowed to jump with the others. Jason assured him they with Scott’s help could handle Clay until they got him across the Afghani border, where Trent would be waiting with Sierra team and the exfil helos. This was to be a zero-footprint, rescue and a kill-capture op with Clay’s retrieval their primary objective.

Though Mandy had not fully vetted her theory, she did believe Tabasi was in the right position to be the leader of the IIB. Bringing him in alive would useful to torpedo the entire organization and cut off their funding, but she would understand if they had to take him out to save Clay.

The airman gave the signal they were nearing the drop zone, so they all stood and prepared. Scott grinned as Brock fitted the green mask with the vicious teeth design on it over Cerb’s snout. Tangos subjected to his fangs would never believe how cuddly Cerb could be with his pack. He sorta hoped the hair missile got to sink his canines into Tabasi.

As they lined up the rear of the plane opened and they walked off into the sky filled with thousands upon thousands of stars twinkling in the moonless night. 

* * *

_**Turkmenistan – Tabasi’s Compound** _

Having roused twice more, and been subjected to another round of waterboarding and tasering, Clay now hung in the center of the room soaking wet, shivering, and all alone. His arms had long ago gone numb, which was a small blessing, but every time they lowered him to lay him on the plank to smother him with a cloth and pour water over his nose and mouth, they came back to life … with thousands of stabbing pins and needles.

Time held no meaning in this windowless room. It could be day or night for all Clay could tell. Somewhere between the last tasering and Tabasi leaving, Clay found a place to go to in his head and managed to stay there. He never would’ve believed his safe place would be so simple … the inside of Bravo’s plane.

It was where he felt safest, surrounded by his brothers, by their laughter, by the teasing and terrible jokes, by the beers handed out after completing a mission. The one place which was home to all of them … where they geared up, patted each other on the back, trusting each one would cover their six so they all came home. Where hammocks gently swung, cocooning and lulling them to sleep … well, until Sonny started snoring.

He refused to give up and say goodbye. Not yet. His brothers would come. They always did, no matter if he was lost in the deepest darkest jungle, floating in the middle of the ocean, on some remote island, or in a country which could start World War III if they were found operating in it. So his brothers finding him in the middle of a godforsaken desert somewhere in Turkmenistan was not out of the question.

Clay only hoped he could hang on, so they didn’t arrive to find his corpse. He had done what his training taught him … to attempt escape, to resist, to survive, but that might not be enough. But even if he didn’t make it out alive, he would be going home. His chosen family would never leave him behind … never. They would come guns blazing to save him.

Drifting back to the plane’s interior and gazing around at his brother’s faces, Clay hoped to be going home swinging in his hammock instead of lying in a flag-draped casket. When the sound of gunfire erupted, Clay wasn’t certain if it was real or imagined. With an enormous effort, he lifted his head as the door to the room burst open, coming fully off its hinges.

_Real._

Sonny’s face loomed in front of him as the Texan wrapped his arms around his torso and lifted to take the weight off his wrists and Jason pulled out a knife to cut the twine. “Knew you’d come,” was the only thing Clay managed to get out before the pain of his arms being released tipped him over the edge of the abyss.

After Jason sliced the rope holding Clay, Sonny almost dropped Spenser when the kid blacked out. Jason shared a smile with Sonny upon discerning the unwavering trust implicit in Clay’s three words. Without time to do more than help sling Clay over Sonny’s shoulders, they were on the move again. Keying his comms, he said, “Bravo One to Havoc. Jackpot. Got the kid. Alive.”

“Bravo Two to One. Two HVTs in custody.”

“Copy. Moving to exfil.”

“Alpha One to Bravo One, we acquired transportation, three trucks. Meet you on the east side of the building.”

“Copy.” Jason took point as they exited the room. Tabasi’s stronghold had fewer military-aged males than they anticipated and as far as missions went, this was as smooth as they got, but until they got in the trucks, crossed the border, and assessed the kid’s state, he wouldn’t let his guard down.

Halting at the doorway, Jason took a moment to scan the area as his gut told him something didn’t feel right. This was too easy and smelled of a trap. He spotted Ray with Alphas Four and Five leading two hooded men around the corner. Coming from the other direction and almost to their transport was Alpha Two and Sierra Two trailing Brock and Cerb. Alpha Three sat in the driver’s seat of the lead truck with the door open as Alpha One maintained guard.

Three men all simultaneously reacted when Cerb stopped and sat. Jason shouted, “Get away from the trucks,” as Brock pulled on Cerb’s leash and they started running while Alpha One grabbed Alpha Three, tugging him out of the truck. The men and dog scarcely cleared the vehicles before a resounding kaboom rent the air and three balls of orange flame billowed into the sky as all the trucks exploded.

Brock, Cerb, and Alphas One, Two, and Three were lifted into the air by the concussive wave and slammed down on terra firma two seconds later as debris rained down on them. Brock managed to crawl forward and covered Cerb with his body right before a blazing tire would’ve landed on the hair missile. Instead, it hit his back with a solid, painful thud.

Gunfire erupted from the perimeter, as fighters flooded out of what Jason assumed to be underground tunnels since ISR had not picked up any signs before now. In the chaos, the highly trained men did what they do best, remained calm, sought cover, protected the injured, and swacked as many tangos as they could while Jason radioed HAVOC to call in the QRT.

They were able to fall back to a defensible position, and Sonny set the kid down in an alcove to help take out the enemy combatants. Brock carried Cerb and laid his pup beside Clay. He couldn’t find any blood, but when Cerb tried to get up outside he whined and tipped over, so Brock scooped him up and brought him inside. He wondered if the explosion affected Cerb’s ears, given with what appeared to be trouble with his equilibrium.

Ray hustled the HVTs inside and shoved them to the floor, directing Alpha Four to watch them as he and Alpha Five took up positions at a window and began firing to cover Full Metal as he dragged an unconscious Alpha Three towards the house.

Thankful for the cover fire provided by the other guys, Full Metal lay Nick in the same alcove as Cerb and Clay before turning to Jason. “Fuck … I should’ve checked them for explosives.”

“We’ll debrief later.” Jason keyed his comms, “HAVOC, ETA on QRT.”

“Three mics. Hold tight.” Eric raked a hand through his hair as he eyed Mandy, both ticked about another trap.

“Copy. Holding.”

Sierra Two moved to the injured, visually triaging each and although Clay was unconscious, he was breathing fine, and Cerb was awake … Alpha Three needed his help the most. The piece of metal sticking out of his neck needed to be stabilized.

Scott set to work with steady hands as he wrapped gauze around the shrapnel to keep it from moving. Luckily the wound was not bleeding too much, but if the fragment dislodged that could change in an instant, and they might lose Nick. Not something Scott was going to let happen to Alpha’s medic.

Clay blinked open his eyes amid the turmoil. He spotted Cerb first, and although it hurt like hell, he couldn’t resist reaching out to curl his fingers over a paw. Next, he noted Scott working on Nick, and his gut lurched at one of them being injured to save his ass. His throat dry, Clay rasped, “He gonna make it?”

Scott whipped his head towards Clay. “Yeah. Tricky place for shrapnel, but I think it missed his carotid artery. Talk to me, where are you hurt?”

“Lower left leg hurts most … shoulders … head.”

“K, give me a moment, and I’ll give you some relief.”

The distinctive sound of helos approaching caused Sonny to return to Clay’s side. “Can you walk?”

“No.” Clay glanced at his legs at the same time Sonny did.

“Shit. I’m your ride. You’re going home, Toto.”

“Toto?” Clay coughed, his chest becoming tighter, likely due to inhaling foul water when they waterboarded him. _Damn, I hate the feeling of drowning._

“I’ll explain later. Ready?” Sonny shifted his weapon to the side and prepared to pull Clay over his shoulder.

Not in the least ready, moving would send tentacles of pain through his entire body, Clay nodded, gritted his teeth, and hoped to god he didn’t scream. Before Sonny lifted him, he noted Brock picking up Cerb. _Damn, the pup got hurt too._ His left shin knocking into Sonny’s gear as he was tugged upward sent Clay back to never, neverland with an abbreviated shriek.

* * *

_**Helos Bound for Bagram Airfield** _

As Sierra team provided cover fire, Bravo and Alpha along with their HVTs, raced for the helos. It wasn’t until they were airborne that Ray found Tarek el-Samad took three rounds to the thigh. Although he attempted to stem the massive hemorrhaging, the bullet tore the femoral artery and the terrorist bled out.

Sonny had sped to the helo with Trent, leaving Scott and Full Metal to take Nick to the third one. He, Clay, Brock, Cerb, and Jason all ended up on the same helo, and they made room for Trent to triage their kid.

Trent took one glance at Clay’s left leg and deemed it to be the most significant injury. Though the right shin appeared swollen and bruised, the left was twice the size and hot to the touch. He didn’t speak his worry to the others, but the kid might have developed a DVT.

Deep vein thrombosis could be life-threatening if the blood clot broke loose and traveled through Clay’s bloodstream to his lungs and blocked blood flow, causing a pulmonary embolism. He started an IV and then dug in the extra supplies Scott had procured, hoping to find a blood thinner … but he didn’t. He spoke with Scott over comms and found out he hadn’t had time to administer pain meds, so he pushed those instead.

“We need to strap him to a stretcher and limit his movement, especially his legs,” Trent shouted to be heard over the engines.

“Is his leg broken?” Sonny asked.

“Not certain, possibly. Don’t press on the swollen areas. Be very careful.”

“He was hanging from his wrists,” Jason supplied.

“All the more reason to secure him.” Trent shifted to allow the others to move Clay. His own shoulder not up to the task of carefully rolling Clay, but he held the kid’s head as they positioned him on the stiff backboard and strapped him down.

The hour flight to Bagram seemed endless to those conscious. They all were thankful to have their treasured kid back, and although Clay opened his eyes twice during the flight, he didn’t talk, which didn’t surprise anyone given his battered condition. Brock cradled Cerb in his lap, petting the pup as Jason contacted Blackburn arrange for a veterinarian to meet them on the tarmac. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn't let the evil muse hurt Cerb too bad.


	9. Taking Care of Brothers … and Business

_**Bagram - Tarmac** _

As the helicopters touched down, medical staff rushed out to meet them. Ray exited his helo, and after handing off Tabasi to the MPs to take to the detention center, he headed for the helo with Clay. He wanted a visual on the kid, wanted to ride in the same bird, but he did what was necessary by taking charge of the HVTs, allowing Jason to be with Clay.

Two corpsmen pulled Clay’s backboard onto a gurney as Jason and Sonny hopped out the other side. Trent followed, grabbing his medical pack and began a litany of medical jargon to convey Spenser’s status. It took all of two minutes before they realized Brock had yet to exit the helo to carry Cerb to the waiting vet several yards away.

Jason turned back to the helo noting Brock had not moved, nor had Cerb. “Brock?” The hazel eyes which lifted and met Jason’s conveyed significant pain. Recognition lit Jason’s mind as he simultaneously kicked himself for not checking Brock and yelled, “NEED A MEDIC OVER HERE!”

His shout brought Trent’s head swiveling around as Jason, Ray, and Sonny surged towards the helicopter. Torn between going with the kid and responding to Jason’s plea, he decided Spenser was in good hands, so rushed back to the helo. He arrived just as Sonny was lifting Cerb out of Brock’s lap.

“What the hell happened?” Trent asked as he climbed back inside.

“Brock was close to the explosion,” Ray supplied, only knowing that because Cerb had been hurt.

“Where do you hurt? And why the hell didn’t you say something before now?” Jason crouched beside his man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

A slight groan escaped from Brock at the touch. “Adrenaline masked it … a tire hit my back when I covered Cerb.”

“SHIT!”

“Where? Upper or lower?” Trent knelt close and waited.

“Both … big truck. I need to go with Cerb.”

“Sonny will stay with him. You need medical treatment too.”

“I won’t leave the hair missile,” Sonny stated. The pup was as important as any of his brothers. And although he wanted to be closer to Clay, he would take care of Cerberus for Brock to ease Reynolds’ mind.

Trent turned to Ray. “We need a backboard.”

“On it.” Ray raced to one of the waiting ambulances and returned with corpsmen and a gurney in tow. Once Brock was secure to the board, his neck and head braced with Velcro straps and foam, they lifted him out of the helo and Trent went with him in the ambulance.

Jason and Ray stood a moment, shoulder to shoulder as they watched four ambulances drive off with Clay, Brock, Cerb, and Nick. Blowing out a breath, Jason said, “We need answers.”

Ray nodded. “Agree. Something was off. Why would Tabasi and el-Samad be in the house if they planned the trap? Doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. Hopefully, Mandy will be able to find out.” Jason turned back to grab Brock’s gear only to find Sierra Six taking care of it.

Rob came forward. “If you guys give me your gear, I’ll secure it for you so you can go directly to the hospital.”

Nodding, both handed over their weapons and vests, then moved to a vehicle. Explanations could wait until after they received word on their injured brothers. 

* * *

_**Bagram Airfield – Craig Joint Theater Hospital** _

Sonny shifted in his chair and glanced over at Cerb, who snoozed in his kennel tucked in the corner of the semi-private room. With Blackburn’s well-honed tactful words, rather than Sonny’s tenacious Texan attitude, Jason’s tetchy disregard of adherence to hospital rules he deemed asinine, Ray’s thoughtful plea, or Trent’s tenebrious mood, giving anyone who disagreed with him a sour look, the doctor had been convinced it would be in the best interest of both Brock and Cerb for them to be in the same room.

Although the kennel’s door stood open so the pup could come out as desired, for the most part, he remained on his pad, curled up with t-shirts from both Brock and Clay. Cerb made two forays out though. One when they first arrived, when he did a belly crawl to sniff around Brock’s and Clay’s beds. Likely making sure his packmates were not in danger. The second happened about thirty minutes ago when he inched his way to Sonny and whined.

At first, Sonny couldn’t figure out what the pup wanted or needed, worried Cerb might be in pain, but Ray, always the voice of reason suggested Cerb needed to relieve himself. Sonny scooped Cerberus up and carried him outside, and the hair missile proved Ray right.

Upon returning, Cerberus returned to his bed and promptly went back to sleep. Brock would be happy to learn the vet didn’t find anything seriously wrong with Cerb. The impact when he landed left him with aching muscles, and she indicated the concussive effect of the explosion affected his inner ear, causing the balance issue, but he would be alright with a few weeks rest.

The same couldn’t be said for Brock. Even considering increased adrenaline levels covered his pain, how he managed to carry Cerb twice with a torn rotator cuff tendon in his left shoulder confounded them all. The bruising and swelling were also significant, and in a circular-shape around his entire back. Based on Reynolds’ injuries, the vet said Brock saved Cerb’s life by shielding him from the forceful tire impact.

Brock underwent surgery to repair his tendon and would be out for several months while his shoulder healed. In a week or so, Brock would join Trent in physical therapy to restore their strength and motion. Luckily, the doctors here projected a full recovery, but only time would tell.

Sonny shifted his gaze to the kid. Clay was a total mess. The bastard Tabasi not only tasered him and beat the ever-living crap out of him, the toxicology report and blood tests showed he shot the kid up with several different drugs. This made reducing his pain tricky business since opioids were off the table. Images of Clay’s suffering as he withdrew assaulted his mind as he remembered the doctor’s concerns about needing increased levels of the medication and possible addiction due to what occurred in Tibet.

When Sonny spotted the dog shock devices on Clay’s wrists and ankles, he wanted to wrap them around Tabasi’s throat and turn the voltage up to ten. The repeated shocks caused minor burns where the probes pushed into the tender skin, but those weren’t the worst injuries caused by being zapped. The fall from the platform had an explanation now, and it was the plunge onto the train track which produced them.

Though his tibias had not broken clean through, he did suffer hairline fractures in both, and a DVT developed in his left leg from the trauma of impact coupled with lack of motion as he was restrained. Sonny hoped the non-invasive treatment with heparin worked because the kid had enough shit on his plate already.

Sonny cringed when Trent explained to them what the doctor meant when he said he might have to do a percutaneous transcatheter treatment for deep venous thrombosis if the anticoagulant therapy didn’t work. In laymen’s terms, they would insert a thin, flexible tube into a blood vessel through Clay’s groin. _Ouch!_ A wire would be threaded through his vein until they reached the clot and then they could remove it before the damned thing detached and traveled to his heart or lungs … which could kill him.

And speaking of his lungs, the polluted water Spenser inhaled during waterboarding caused edema in his lungs. The kid required a bronchoscopy to remove any residual liquid, and they placed him on oxygen. If lucky, the bronchial lavage performed while the kid was unconscious would prevent him from developing pneumonia. The nurses were monitoring Clay closely for signs of infection while waiting for the lab to test the cultures for organisms.

The doctor also worried about Clay’s kidney function. The dark purple bruising on his back bespoke of where the wheelchair slammed into his right kidney and the additional blows he received in the thrashing meted out by thugs with hammer-sized fists. They catheterized the kid to measure his urinary output, as well as to visualize the presence of blood. Clay wouldn’t like that when he woke, but with him not being able to walk to the bathroom, it would be less humiliating than pissing in a bottle while one of them held it for him.

And why would they need to hold it? Because the stress put on his shoulders and wrists as he hung for god knows how long resulted in strained muscles and both arms were now strapped down to prevent movement while they healed. The kid would be joining Brock and Trent for shoulder physical therapy.

The final injury was the blow to the kid’s head when he fell. The likelihood of him experiencing future TTMs increased. That worried Sonny the most. He wondered if the kid would be cleared to operate with the possibility of suffering a migraine. He decided to leave that in Jason’s, Trent’s, and Blackburn’s hands. They might become creative with the kid’s medical records.

Sonny glanced up when the door opened, half-expecting Jason, Ray, or Trent, but it was the nurse.

Theresa gave the worried man a slight smile as she moved to Brock’s bed. “I’m here to take their vitals, and I’ll need you to step outside for only a moment when I check your buddy’s catheter and empty the drainage bag. I’m certain he wouldn’t appreciate an audience.”

Sonny nodded and rose. He liked the nurse. She had a gentle touch and kind eyes. His brothers were safe with her. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Why don’t you go grab a coffee or something to eat. I’ll be in here for about ten minutes.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sonny ambled out and headed for the vending machine.

* * *

_**Bagram Airfield – Detention Center Observation Room** _

Jason squeezed one of Cerb’s fetch balls in his hand to relieve his tension … better than smashing a fist through the one-way glass and going in there to strangle Tabasi. The man was a real piece of work … total shit … and he wished he could’ve swacked the asshole instead of brining him in alive. Mandy continued to interrogate him but didn’t seem to be getting any useful information.

He turned as the door opened, noting both Ray and Blackburn entering. “How’s Nick and Trent?”

Ray took a chair and leaned back. “Trent’s testy, but is remaining in the barracks to rest.”

Eric threaded his fingers through his hair as he sat on the corner of a table. “Nick’s going to be fine. The shard missed his jugular by a hairs-breath. He’ll be recouping for a while though, like half your team.”

Nodding Jason said, “I want to go after the IIB and annihilate it.”

Knowing his decision would go over like a lead brick, Eric sighed. “Bravo is being sent home. Alpha will be taking over the rest of your deployment.” He raised a hand as Jason opened his mouth. “You have a choice to make.”

Jason eyed Eric. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“One, you can go home and take a few weeks off before instructing at Green Team while Clay, Brock, and Trent rehab. Two, you can go home and take any refresher training you need. Three, you can go to San Diego and instruct BUD/S.”

Crossing his arms, Jason squeezed the ball. “I think I like number four best.”

“I didn’t …” Eric trailed off. “What is your option?”

“Go home for a few weeks to make sure our boys are settled in and then me, Ray, and Sonny join Alpha in tracking the IIB and tearing their organization apart for good.”

Ray nodded. “Personally, I like the fourth option the best, and I’m sure Sonny will too. He will become a loose cannon if he can’t seek payback for all the lives lost in the avalanche and for what happened to Clay, Cerb, Trent, Brock, and Nick.”

“Alright, I’ll see if Harrington will approve. Either way, once the doctor clears Clay for travel, you all will be heading stateside.”

* * *

_**Bagram Airfield – Craig Joint Theater Hospital** _

Twirling up from grayness, a foggy world with disconnected images, Clay struggled to make sense as he spun one way then the other. Faces morphed between his brothers and his torturers as pain rippled through his body. The tawdry laughter of Tabasi as he gripped his testicles and taunted him with allowing Dinc to rape him filled Clay’s head as he moaned and tried to pull away, but found his arms pinned to his sides.

Theresa lifted the sheet to check the catheter’s placement when the output was less than expected. She found the tubing kinked and with deft and gentle hands, began to adjust the placement as her patient moaned. “I’m sorry. I only need to make sure this is aligned properly. It won’t hurt.”

Clay’s need to resist, unwilling to meekly submit to rape, allowed him to jerk to the left and kick out with his right foot. A scream echoed in his ears … uncertain if it was his or Tabasi’s he kicked again, and then he was falling to the train tracks, landing in a painful heap as, “AAAARRRGHH,” ripped from his throat, unable to swallow his pain.

Upon hearing Theresa’s scream, followed by Clay’s howl of pain, Sonny dropped his coffee, the brew decorating the floor as he slammed open the door and rushed in.

Theresa held an end of a tube in one hand as her other pressed to her stomach as she panted for breath … the kick to her abdomen wholly unexpected and painful. But her professionalism remained intact as she said, “He needs help. I think I startled him awake.”

“Go, get help. I’ve got my brother.” Sonny moved around to the other side of the bed as Theresa rushed from the room. Moving slowly, he spotted the wild-eyed fear in Clay’s eyes. This wasn’t his first rodeo with a panicked kid. The nightmares after Mexico and Tibet had been tough on them both, but he knew how to calm his little brother.

Pitching his tone soft, allowing the twang of his southern drawl to reign, Sonny used words which usually cut through the panic. “Hey, Kiddo, its Sonny. I’m coming closer. You’re safe with me. You hear me? Safe.” He knelt as Clay’s eyes turned to him. “I got you, Brother. I’m here, and no one is going to hurt you.”

His tilt-a-world decelerating, Clay tried to focus on the familiar and trusted voice. Tentatively, he said, “Sonny?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m going to come closer. Okay?”

“Help me. Take me away from here. I can’t move my arms.”

“I know, Bucker-Roo. Your shoulders are hurt. It is to protect them.” Sonny shifted so he could bring Clay’s back to his chest and support him. When Clay’s body began to tremble, he wrapped one arm around him and placed the other on Clay’s head, stroking his black hair. “Shhh. You’re alright. You are safe.”

Still twirling and not quite with it, Clay tumbled out, “Don’t let them touch me again. I don’t want to be raped.”

Sonny’s eyes nearly bugged out of his sockets, and he was glad to be positioned behind Clay so the kid didn’t see his shock which turned to fury which he managed to control because in the kid’s state of mind he might believe it was directed at him. “I promise they won’t touch you again. Not while I have a breath in me.”

Several nurses and two orderlies entered, and Clay tensed in his arms. “Back. Give us a moment,” Sonny stated as Clay turned his head into his shoulder, and his trembling increased.

Theresa nodded as she and her colleagues backed up to the doorway and out of sight.

“Okay, it is just you and me, Kid. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I got your six.”

A soft sob came from Clay as Sonny held him. Embarrassment might come later, but for now, he needed to be held, to be reassured he was safe, and the Mighty Quinn, his big brother, his staunchest ally, a grizzly bear with a teddy bear’s heart was the one person he needed most.

Sonny didn’t mention the tears, only embraced his kid brother, providing him the security the little boy inside needed … and probably the young man too after what Clay endured. When the tremors finally calmed and stopped, Sonny said, “You ready to move back to bed, Simba?”

“Where am I?”

“Afghanistan. Hospital at Bagram.”

“The guys?”

“Brock and Cerb are your roomies … I’ll tell you all about it later.” Sonny spied Cerb belly crawling to them. “Your furry brother wants a pet.”

“Which one?”

Sonny chuckled at the return of Clay’s humor. The kid would be alright, but he suspected he had a rough road to travel again to get his head on straight … as would any of them if they had been subjected to torture.

“Cerb, you smart-ass.”

“Can’t pet him … arms don’t work.”

“Use your right toes … the hairball is at your feet.”

Clay turned to peer at Cerb, and though it hurt he managed to stroke the side of the pup’s face twice.

“Can the nurses and orderlies help put you into bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Theresa, you can come in now.”

In the following fifteen minutes, Clay was situated in his bed, pain meds administered, he was given the once over by the doctor to ensure he had not gained additional injuries or exacerbated existing ones in his tumble. The entire time, at Clay’s request, Sonny remained beside him with one hand touching him, even as the dreaded catheter was reinserted, though they both averted their gazes, just something no guy wants to watch on themselves or another dude.

Sonny understood the kid needed a tangible link to the here and now, so he didn’t slip back to there. After the doctor and nurses left, Sonny lifted Cerb onto the bed so he could cuddle up to Clay’s side and provide an ongoing link. Sonny poured the kid water and held the cup with the bendy straw while he drank his fill. As Clay sipped, Sonny explained what happened to Brock, Cerb, and Nick during the rescue mission, and everything that transpired from the point Clay was taken in Zermatt.

Sonny recognized the sadness that crossed the kid’s face when he learned how many people died on the mountain, but he reassured him that Tabasi was at fault, not him. He was shocked to learn the bits Clay shared with him about Tabasi’s and el-Samad’s reasons for taking him.

Once the kid was up to it, he would provide a full after-action report, so Sonny didn’t push for more details when Clay’s lids began to lower. He realized Clay was fighting sleep, so said, “Rest easy. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you covered, brother.”

Not two minutes later, both Clay and Cerb were snoozing. Sonny resumed his seat and released a long breath. He leaned back and closed his eyes, needing a little rest himself. On the verge of sleep, he reopened when Brock spoke to him in a slightly slurry voice.

“You did good, Sonny. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“Thought you were asleep?”

“His scream woke me. You had it handled. Didn’t need me interfering. He’s lucky to have a brother like you.”

Sonny grinned. “Well, I won’t argue with you. How are you doing? Need anything?”

“Nah, everything I need is in my hand.” Brock depressed the button to dispense a measured dose of painkiller. It didn’t take long for both men to drift off, and the room soon became silent, except for Sonny’s light snoring.

* * *

_**Turkmenistan – Tabasi’s Compound** _

Ulker Volkan exited the hidden bunker and surveyed the area littered with dead men. When he strolled into the house and found Dinc’s body, he sighed. Dinc would be the only one he missed. Ulker befriended him years ago as he worked his way into Tabasi’s network and into a trusted position. Some might call him a traitor, but Ulker saw himself as a true believer in the IIB’s original doctrine.

Tabasi was a careful man, but not diligent enough. And this last bit with Tabasi seeking vengeance for his sons’ deaths tipped the scales in his real boss’s favor and played perfectly into their strategy. The coup would succeed with Tabasi out of the picture and in the hands of the Americans. Ulker only wished he could report Tabasi died and Tarek el-Samad survived instead of the reverse.

The el-Samads, both father and son, were martyrs in this intricately planned takeover of the IIB. Tarek played his part well, so well that Tabasi never suspected he was the actual target or that Tarek’s son’s capture had been the first step in the strategy to wipe out the more radical elements who seized control of IIB after Isaksson’s arrest.

Tabasi’s use of barbaric and indiscriminate killing did not match with the philosophy of the majority of IIB members. Tabasi almost ruined everything IIB worked for over the past thirty-nine years and had to be stopped. Tabasi’s impatience, greed, short-sightedness, and need for retribution became his downfall.

Pulling out his encrypted cell phone, Ulker dialed, and when it answered, he gave his status report. The only part which didn’t go as planned was the SEAL team left here alive. However, both he and his boss agreed the Americans would believe the IIB to be defunct after Tabasi’s capture. After taking control, they would scale back IIB’s agenda to facilitate moving their organization under the radar once again and renew their efforts to subvert from within without anyone being the wiser.

After taking the scimitar, Ulker exited the building, climbed into a car, and drove several hundred yards before depressing the detonator, blowing Tabasi’s compound sky high and leaving a crater in the ground.

.

_... To be continued in AI-U_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the AI-T Clay Whump Train and the little twist at the end. Drop me a comment and let me know what you thought.
> 
> Evil muse still at work. This story will continue with AI-U ... working title at the moment is **Under the Radar**


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